


Broken Crown

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Complete, F/M, Modern AU, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 33,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: Claire Beauchamp is approached by a mysterious man, Jamie Fraser, with a proposal that will set her on a dangerous path.





	1. 1.0

**1.0**

Fencing is a lot like living. You have to be quick on your feet, to know the appropriate moment to attack and defend, to aim for your target without wasting precious energy on meaningless lunges. I was always unbeatable with my foil, but in life - well, _not so much_.

The day I was recruited, _he_ found me there, in the fencing strip. I was in the middle of a counter-attack and had my adversary – flexible, skilled, but undoubtedly too confident – cursing, almost breathless, under her mask. I had seen him before on the arena, mercilessly bringing his adversaries to heel under the power of his sabre. But that day he just stood there, a light smile on his lips, beckoning me. _Touché_.

My riposte finished the girl – and the bout. We saluted and took off our masks, my opponent throwing herself on a river of compliments and questions. I answered her absentmindedly, because my full attention was fixed on those blue eyes, so sharp and dangerous, as capable of bleeding me as my foil.

I usually was very oblivious – and even impatient – with men’s attentions. I liked my blades better, foil and scalpel, the cutting and healing.  _En garde!_ \- I certainly was most of the time. But he stripped me right then and there, of jacket, plastron and invisible shields, like he could see me underneath and was very pleased with that secret power. I was unnerved and, quite frankly, mightily intrigued by his presence.

After I said my goodbyes to Mary, promising her the opportunity for a rematch soon enough, I marched towards him, regaining a bit of my attitude as I walked. My curls wobbled and bounced, happy to be freed of confinement. He didn’t even flinch as I approached, as if he had been _waiting_ , knowing all along I would come to him.

“May I help you?” I asked a little harshly, taking off my gloves. My fingertips felt numb and a bit sore from holding my weapon – I hadn’t been training enough, my days filled with surgeries and dictating charts.

He stared at me, his face serious – even if there was the hint of a smile hidden inside the corners of his full mouth or in the mischievous sparkle of his eyes.

“No.” He nodded and his eyes seemed to darken, a brisk voyage through endless shades of blue. _Scottish_ , his accent denounced him. The voice of a storyteller, a charmer, a lover, a stranger in the night on the other side of a gun. “But maybe _I_ can change your life.”


	2. 2.0

**2.0**

We walked to the car park outside, our elbows brushing just enough to remind me he was real. He strode with the elegance and calculated movements of a big feline, uncannily silent for someone so astonishingly _big_. Almost every parking spot was empty, most athletes long gone in search of dinner or pleasanter company.

Waiting for us near a black car, not particularly recent or clean, was a very small man. The strands of hair peeking from his hat were silver and his eyes black - if not as warm in that moment- as coals, slightly bulbous as if he was indeed an overgrown amphibian.

“Doctor Claire Beauchamp.” He offered me a pleasant smile, as we reached him. “I’m glad you agreed to meet me. I’m Raymond.”

“I’m not sure I agreed to anything at all.” I offered the redheaded man, who hadn’t yet introduced himself, a sideways glance. “ _This one_ was being very cryptic about the subject of this…erm… _meeting_.”

“I see.” He winked at me, clearly amused by my outrage. “Jamie here is trying to follow the rules just this time. He doesn’t do _that_ very often, I assure you.”  The man – _Jamie_ – gave him a crooked smile. I directed him a measured look, fearing he was about to pounce at me without further notice.

“I’m sure you are wondering what’s this about.” Raymond waited for my nod in confirmation. “Tell me, Doctor Beauchamp, are you familiar with _ETA_ and _IRA_?”

“Yes.” I raised a brow in surprise. Not at all what I had been expecting – not that I even _knew_ what that _would be_.

“And what do they have in common, in your educated opinion?” He looked at me patiently, as if he was used to lead on such conversations, his hands gracefully poised as a lecturer in class.

“Besides bad marketing, you mean?” I nervously joked and shrugged, uncomfortable with the pathway chosen for this conversation. I could sense thunder forming somewhere, over the horizon, gathering to strike me down. _I was afraid_ \- even if the reason for my fears had yet to manifest itself.

“ _Terrorism_ , Claire.” He was suddenly serious, his eyes unnervingly fathomless. “Both organizations tried to disguise their extremist acts with cries for independence. They made bombs in small apartment’s kitchens, killed mothers and infants, murdered hundreds in the name of a greater cause.”

“I understand.” _Oh, but I didn’t at that point. Not really, not within my bones and flesh._ “But what do _I_ have to do with any of that?”

“Many years have passed since Bonnie Prince Charlie lost his crown and Scotland was subdued to England yet again.” Raymond examined his nails, finding something particularly interesting there. Jamie’s eyes never left my face _\- I felt them_ , lingering there like a firebrand. “But some people never forgot. Some people put Scotland’s independence above everything else, including the lives of innocents. Oh, they are _done_ with referendums and peaceful protests – they will crash and burn, and all of us with them if need be, so that a free Scotland can be born.”

“Are you saying there are _terrorists_ in _Scotland_?” I croaked, utterly shocked. I couldn’t really imagine a more peaceful and welcoming people – to try and place faceless murderers amongst them was… _a struggle_ , to say the least.

“Aye.” Jamie finally intervened, sensing my uneasiness. “And we need _yer_ help stopping them. I’m Agent Fraser and this is Director Raymond, the head of MI5 here in Scotland.” He tilted his head, studying me. “And operation _“Broken Crown”_ needs you.”


	3. 2.1

**2.1**

I gaped at the both of them, my hearing suddenly clouded like a January sky over Edinburgh. _Terrorists. Operation Broken Crown. Me. Agent Fraser._

“You’re a spy!” I accused Jamie, my eyes widening until they almost hurt. I essentially expected him to magically transmute into a black suit and tie, with matching sunglasses. He looked remarkably ordinary in his comfortable jeans and blue shirt.

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he could see the ridiculous image inside my mind. “I’m a _field agent_ , lass.”

“Jamie here is one of our most valuable operatives.” Raymond added, looking at Jamie with a distinct mixture of pride and concern. “He has been working undercover for a couple of years now. Frankly, he has been _Operation Broken Crown_ itself so far.”

“You said you needed me.” I whispered, my tongue feeling weirdly foreign inside my mouth. “But you must be mistaken, sir. I’m just a doctor. You know – _normal_. I’m sure you have plenty of agents capable of doing whatever you need them to do.”

“Ye have a particular set of skills, Claire, which make ye not only remarkable but very valuable to us.” Jamie said softly, crossing his arms.

“Indeed.” Raymond agreed, throwing an evaluating glance at a solitary man, walking a sad looking dog across the park, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the light of dusk. “You are exactly what we need. A doctor, with basic knowledge of various languages, used to adapt herself to difficult surroundings. A fencing expert. An outlander, with no personal attachments. And a strikingly beautiful woman – oh, don’t look at me like that, dear. Beauty can be a weapon as deadly as a grenade, when wielded by a dextrous hand.”

“I’m - _not_ …I’m…” I hissed, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles, trying to clear my head. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well, I can’t give you all the details yet.” The director smiled sheepishly. “But the general idea is that I need you to infiltrate a powerful company, in a position Jamie himself couldn’t get to, so you can access and supply us with valuable intelligence.”

“Does that company have a name?” I pressed, the feeling of dread nestling itself around my heart, a hungry vulture around a succulent dead carcass.

“Aye, it does.” Jamie replied, slightly moving his shoulders, as if his shirt was too tight. “ _Leoch Enterprises._ ” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it in one of my memory’s drawers.

“But I know nothing about – you know – _spying_!” I protested vehemently and a bit desperately, brushing my wild hair. “I never even touched a gun. And I’m a _terrible liar_!”

“The job we need you to do won’t require much in that department, hopefully.” Raymond scratched the shadow of a grey scruff. “However, if you accept our offer you will receive some intensive training. You will go to a safe house for a couple of weeks and Jamie will be your instructor. We’ll make sure you learn everything you might possibly need.”

“But _why_ should I do any of that?” I whispered, feeling that I was drowning without wiggling my arms quite enough to find salvation. “Why should I abandon _my life_ and go play a clearly dangerous game, for which I have not applied or in any capacity asked for?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do, _Sassenach_. It’s about saving lives.” Jamie intently looked at me and gave me a timid, yet unforgettable, smile. “I have a feeling that’s just enough for someone like _you_.”


	4. 2.2

**2.2**

“Yes.” I said in a defeated voice. “I’ll do it.”

Because Jamie _was_ right. The same need that had compelled me most of my life – alleviate the suffering, ease the pain, spare the life – would drive me in this too. I couldn’t bear to stand idle when it could be within my power to avoid a massacre.

They sent me home to pack a light bag, with specific instructions not to bring anything too personal with me. No photographs, documents with identification or distinctive objects. My cover story would be that I had been selected for an advanced trauma course in Sidney – far away enough that no one would actually expect me to appear any time soon or come looking for me when they heard very little news.

“What am I to do once I go back to the hospital lacking any _actual_ formation under my belt?” I asked Jamie, as he drove my car to leave me home for my final night. My life _B.E._ – _before espionage_.  My car would be taken away to some unknown location, waiting for my return. I wouldn’t need it where I was going.

“The MI5 will provide for a full course of yer choosing when everything is said and done.” He smiled. “Ye should get some rest tonight, lass. We’ll take care of everything.”

But I laid wide awake almost until dawn, staring at the window of my bedroom. I couldn’t avoid the feeling that my life as I knew it was coming to an end – _Claire Beauchamp_ would soon enough become a ghost. I feared I would forget her too, in time. I was desperate not to lose myself, no matter what they forced me to do, no matter who I was meant to become. The black cabin suitcase I had carefully prepared loomed in the corner, as a spectre standing guard.

I was finishing drying my hair with a towel when I heard a soft knock on the front door. I opened it and discovered Jamie, looking well rested and impossibly handsome on a black t-shirt and deep blue jeans.

“Oh, it’s _you_.” I said dryly, stepping to the side to allow him in. “I can’t believe you _actually_ _knocked_. I’d expect you to just pick my lock and wait for me spread on the couch.”

He shrugged and offered me an amused smile. “Why bother when ye can open it for me?”

“Maybe the chance to go over my things?” I said between teeth, smacking the towel inside the laundry basket. “Place a bug or two?”

“Who said I already didn’t?” Jamie smirked and raised a brow. “Ye have some lovely underwear on the bottom drawer – the wee pink ones with ribbons were my favourite.”

“Prick.” I growled, giving him a narrow look. But I couldn’t avoid to mentally list the items stored in the bottom drawer – I was fairly sure I didn’t even _own_ a pink pair of knickers. _Ass_.

I couldn’t really stop myself from being mordant – from feeling _angry_ at him. He had knowingly led me towards this new and frightening life. He had _baited me_ and I had trusted him. I wondered if he knew why I had followed him to the car park the previous day. If he knew I wouldn’t have followed anyone else.

“We should go if ye’re ready.” He blatantly ignored my pout. “It’s a long way still to the safe house.”

“Alright.” I breathed deeply and swallowed hard. “Let’s go, then.” I padded towards the door grabbing my bag, but stopped when he didn’t follow me.

“That house is a safe haven for our agents.” He explained softly, his eyes limpid like oceans in the beginning of summer. “We canna risk it being compromised. So either ye go blindfolded or ye can take a pill and sleep yer way there.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t drug me yourself.” I tapped my fingers on my thigh, covered with practical leggings. "Are you really offering me a choice in this?”

“I won’t lie to ye unless I truly must, Claire.” Jamie whispered. “And certainly not in the coming weeks. There are things I cannot tell ye, but we can still have _truth_ between us.”

“ _Fine.”_ I murmured. I couldn’t see how someone who lied for a living could be offering me truth. I couldn’t accept the gift – not while I was being ruled by resentment and panic. “I’ll take the pill then.”

As soon as my head touched the headrest of the car, I escaped towards darkness. I ran away from him inside my mind, where my feet were light as air and left no trails in the dunes of my dreams.

And when I woke up my life changed.


	5. 3.0

**3.0**

Like liquid metal, I was to be forged into something new. Some scraps of Claire Beauchamp would be used to create _Claire Randall_ ; others I would have to abandon entirely. Bury them on a deep grave, holding on to the hope that I’d be able to find them, following an invisible treasure map, when the time to be myself came again.

The safe house – which I had envisioned as a small and dark apartment, with walls stained with dubious spatters - was more of a small manor, with spacious grounds and a treeline of giant oaks, making it fairly secluded. It was actually _quite lovely._ One would never think it was crawling with spies.

Jamie was my main instructor and clearly the leader in the house, but there were other agents there to help. The schedule they prepared for me was nothing short of gruelling, designed to reshape both my body and mind.

I woke up before the sun was even up for the first part of my training – self-defence classes, following the ancient principles of _Krav Maga_. They didn’t want to turn me into an assassin, but I’d have to hold my own if the occasion presented itself. I was taught by an agent called Willie, a good natured young man with a vicious right hook. He made jokes and tried to make it as pleasant as possible, but after three days my skin was covered with bruises nonetheless.

In the early afternoon I had to train my disguise. On my bedside table there was a thick book, filled with the life, heartbreaks and dreams of a woman called _Claire Randall_. They had used some things of my own life, thinking it easier for me if the lies were interspersed with some truths. She was an orphan and a doctor, a trauma surgeon like myself. But she was the widow of a history professor, _Frank Randall_ , her lifetime sweetheart. She still wore his wedding ring. Her friends had other names, other occupations. She had lived in Paris and Boston. Claire Randall dressed differently and carried herself in a more dignified manner. Not even her favourite dish was the same as mine.

 Every afternoon a different agent would come and interrogate me. _What is your name? What is your favourite colour? What is your mother’s maiden name? Where were you on Christmas two years ago? What do you think of Scotland’s separatist movement? How many men have you fucked with?_

Any hesitation or confusion – when I fell back into myself and out of Claire Randall – was rewarded with a grave and disappointed head shake. _Again. Again. Again._

But the end of my days, usually until very late at night, were spent with Jamie. He trained me in the art of surveillance and counter-surveillance. How to know when I was being watched and followed, how to mislead my enemies, how to use the accessories in my wardrobe to send messages. He was a good teacher, patient and clear in his explanations, but I remained cold and indifferent. If I was to wear an armour, I would wear it at all times – I wouldn’t be fooled again by pretty eyes and seductive smiles.

The other part of his duties was teaching me the _Gaidhlig_. Apparently any useful information I was likely to acquire once I was infiltrated, was likely to be presented in that archaic language.

“ _Ciamar a tha thu Sorcha_?” He greeted me when he entered the study. He had clearly taken a shower after spending the better part of two hours following me between the oak trees, in the pouring rain. I was embarrassed to admit I wasn’t able to delude him yet, _not even close_ – he had seen me placing a message between the branches and had been successful in capturing it after I was out of sight. I flared my nostrils in irritation – his soap smelt splendidly.

“ _Gu math Tannasg_.” I smiled wickedly. I had learned _that one_ quickly enough. “What are we to learn today? Colours or numbers?”

“Neither.” Jamie sat in the armchair near the fireplace, instead of going behind the desk as per usual. “Ye dinna trust me and maybe rightfully so. But we need to work together, Sassenach. There will come a time, soon enough, when I’ll be the only soul that’s on yer side. Tonight I tell ye my story.”


	6. 3.1

**3.1**

As Jamie spoke I could see the flames reflected inside his eyes - I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d stay there, long after the fire before us was extinguished.

“Almost four years ago, I was serving in the RAF Regiment.” He told me in a low voice, as if the walls could betray his secrets. “I was injured on my last mission – _badly._ I was at the hospital recovering for several months. For the longest time I thought I was done for, because the wounds had been sae many and I could barely stand without vomiting my guts out.” Jamie offered me a wry smile. “When I started to improve – that’s when Director Raymond came to see _me_.”

“You didn’t choose this either.” I slowly realized, looking intently at him. He smiled – sad and a little embarrassed, perhaps.

“Director Raymond told me that my country needed me to continue to serve, but this time in a different capacity.” He seemed lost in the flames for a while, as if he was seeing himself and the man that had recruited him there. Burning in the ashes, spent in secrets and lies. “He needed me to leave my position at the Royal Air Force and to become a secret agent, working in the counter-terrorism division of the MI5. I was chosen, he told me, because they needed me for a particular mission.”

“He seems to go around doing that a lot.” I snorted. “One almost might start to think he enjoys it.”

“Aye.” Jamie smirked. “For my role to be successful I had to sever all ties completely. My story had to be convincing – people would have to believe that I was at odds with the government and, perhaps, willing to go on a totally different direction. I had to go _rogue.”_ He quickly brushed his eyes with his knuckles, as if the feeling of such dishonour still pained him. “I had a choice to make. I could carry on with my life and forget all about it, bearing the George Cross I was meant to receive for my heroism, or I could forsake it all.”

“You were thrown into this life too.” I whispered, my mouth suddenly very dry.

“Like ye, Sassenach, I dinna see I had much choice.” He rose and walked to the corner, where he poured himself a generous glass of whiskey – and another one for me, which he promptly offered. “For the world I was dismissed with disgrace from the force.” He gripped his fist around the glass. “A patriot who turned his coat. I did my training and have been infiltrated for over two years now.”

“I assume you’re working inside _Leoch Enterprises_?” I ventured to ask, enjoying the kick of strong alcohol on the back of my throat. “So why does Raymond need me there too?”

“It’s complicated.” Jamie tilted his head, studying me. It was very unnerving, to be examined so straightforwardly. “Ye’re not ready yet to know all the details. But I havena been as successful as I wished, I can say that much – Dougal and Colum Mackenzie are hard men to impress. They are the heart and brain of _Leoch Enterprises_.”

“I’m – I’m sorry.” I said haltingly – and couldn’t avoid to blush a little, as he looked at me with surprise written on the lines of his face. I was yet Claire Beauchamp, _too damn much_. I felt too much, too strongly. My face was still glass, polished and breakable, when I wanted it to become steel. “I am sorry - for the things you had to let go. The sacrifices you made that no one will ever acknowledge or appreciate.”

“I’m sorry too.” Jamie said in a husky voice, guilt coating his voice like a mantle. “Don’t ever think it dinna cost me, Claire. To bring ye into this – to change yer life so completely. I’d much prefer to break myself all over again than to see ye hurt because of me.” He wasn’t looking at me in that moment – and I was thankful for it.

“I see.” I whispered. And I wondered if he knew that I _saw him_ above everything else.


	7. 3.2

**3.2**

For the next couple of days I dove entirely into the task of becoming Claire Randall. Progressively I learned more about her, erected her inside my mind like a temple made of singular stones, failed less of the detailed questions they directed me. I decided her hair should be shorter than mine, so I cut it myself in front of the bathroom mirror, using the firm hand trained for years with a scalpel to slash into my brown locks. Jamie raised an inquisitive brow in my direction next morning, but I just nodded to him. He nodded back, with the shadow of a smile looming, and said nothing else.

But as I immersed myself wholly into this _other person_ , I started having trouble sleeping. It was as if my body hadn’t enough space to contain us _both_ – we battled in my subconscious, scratching and twisting for dominance, leaving me wide awake and sweaty. And when I did sleep, it was a fitful slumber. I dreamt of faceless men pursuing me – any of the _two versions_ of myself -, felt their breaths hot on the back of my neck, the weight of my useless legs as I tried to escape them. I woke up bleary eyed, with every muscle of my body aching, feeling utterly scattered. _Claire Randall_ was trying to annihilate _Claire Beauchamp_ \- and I had to let her.

During the day I floated like I was sleepwalking – exhausted and increasingly irascible. I always saw myself as a fairly grounded person, but I never had been tested to this point, of almost _wanting_ to break.

I was waiting for Jamie outside, watching the coming sunset. He had told me the previous day that we’d invert the usual routine – this time I had to follow him and try to remain undetected. _Good luck with that_ , I thought. The redheaded man seemed to be acutely aware of everything happening, so long as it involved me. I feared he could guess how many times I rolled in bed at night, sleepless.

“Claire!” He greeted me, coming around the house. I looked at him and noticed the redness of his skin, as if he had been exposed to the sun for a prolonged time. The weather had been an array of _cloudy, raining, drizzling_ or _thundering_. I didn’t see how _the hell_ he had managed to become sunburnt in Scotland.

“Went to the beach?” I winced. “Could have invited me! Almost worth suffering _you_ , if I could skip a session of whoop-ass with Willie.”

“Verra funny, Sassenach.” He snorted. I almost asked him if _“Sassenach”_ was to be my code name, but bit my tongue. “I’m supposed to be having a grand vacation in _Santorini_. Canna really go back to _Leoch_ looking like fresh milk, while pretending I was partying hard in Greece. So I went to the solarium.” He gave me a monumental failure of a wink.

“That must have been quite the sight.” I laughed, if a bit weakly. He glared at me and the mirth on his face receded like a tidal wave.

“What’s up with ye, Sassenach?” He asked softly. I shrugged and turned to give him my back, slowly starting to walk towards the road where we were to train.

“I took a punch on a sensitive spot.” I lied. _Was I ever to get better at it without training?_ “Ladies’ parts hurt too, you know.”

“I dinna doubt that.” He strode to keep up with me, as I was almost half running. “But yer eyes are dull and hollow. Besides ye lost at least a couple of pounds in the last two days.”

“I don’t sleep that well.” I admitted begrudgingly, alarmed by his attentiveness. “Part of the job as everything else, I suppose.”

“Claire.” He grabbed my elbow and forced me to stop and face him. His face was intent, with lines of worry carving the corners of his mouth. “We’ll accomplish nothing if ye wear yerself thin. This _job_ , as ye say, can take away everything – ye mustn’t let it. Ye must find a place that is only yers and keep it safe. _Find yerself_ there whenever ye need it.”

“I don’t know how to do that.” I admitted in a hoarse voice. I felt tears prickling the back of my eyes, too damn close to the surface.

Jamie stood there for a while, studying me. His big hand – reddish and even warmer than usual - was gentle on my elbow, soothing me in a way no words could.

“Come with me.” He finally smiled and his hand slid on my arm to take hold of my hand. “I’ll take ye somewhere to wind down, just for tonight.”


	8. 3.3

**3.3**

The air in the cave was heavy, pregnant with moistness.  The black lake was a mirror which reflected nothing but endlessness, luring me – _“Come and see”_ , it said. _“Come and wash everything away”._ If only I _could_.

“What is this place?” I asked in a low voice, as if afraid of disturbing some ancient creature sleeping bellow, nestled around the earth’s own heart.

“’Tis a hot spring, Sassenach.” Jamie answered and I jumped – I hadn’t noticed how close he was standing. “I thought ye could use some soaking up.”

“I’m not wearing a bathing suit.” I pointed awkwardly, watching as he started to untie his shoelaces.

“Good, cause I’m not wearing one either.” He rose his brows in defiance. “I won’t attack ye, dinna worry. I ken how to behave next to a decent lass.”

“I – I’m-“ I exhaled sharply through my nostrils, trying to collect myself. There was something very unnerving about the idea of sharing that dark, steaming, water with him, wearing nothing but my small undergarments.

Jamie tilted his head and smiled. “I can turn my back if ye want me to.”

I gritted my teeth and, slightly turning to expose my flank rather than my bosom, started to undress. I firmly avoided to even glance at Jamie. I didn’t want to know if he was watching me or ignoring me – both were incredibly frightening.  There wasn’t much composure or coolness in the way I almost ran to submerge in the pristine water, shining like black diamonds under the timid lighting.

Jamie shed his clothes slowly, with calculated movements, neatly folding everything as he went – clearly the years in the military were still embedded somewhere within. Once he got to his shirt I noticed the smallest hesitation – just a fraction of time, a fleeting shadow passing across his blue eyes – and then he pulled it off.

I respected skin. Such a large organ, a living thing always changing _(wrinkles, freckles, hickeys, birthmarks, scars, bruises, us too big to fit in it)_ , sheltering everything inside and keeping so much at bay all at once. Jamie’s back had been injured beyond the point of truly healing – incapable of closing the gaps, the skin had reshaped itself, building unnamed mountains and valleys of destruction, manufacturing something functional even if grace and smoothness had been ripped away.

Jamie walked and stepped into the hot spring with an uneasiness I had never seen in him. And yet, his shoulders were straight and his chin up – he wasn’t hiding away from me. For a moment only the subtle sound of dripping water filled the stoned walls, as we accommodated into the underwater world, mindful not to touch in our almost-nakedness. _He was beautiful._

“I came here too.” He whispered. My head was lulled back, enjoying the sensation of being weightless, as I listened to his words, secrets streaming as foam in the water. “To this house – to train when I was recruited. I came upon this cave a few weeks into my training - found that the hot water helped soothing the ache.” Jamie smiled timidly. “ _All_ of my aches. I was hoping it could do the same for ye, Claire.”

“Thank you for bringing me here.” I marvelled at the almost oily texture of the water – I noticed how the depths reflected the red of his hair, a flame still burning on the hidden world. “It’s so peaceful – serene.”

“I’m glad to share it with ye.” His voice was a bit unhinged. “I know ye are struggling. How could ye not, really?” His hand came up and slowly he brushed a moist lock away from my face. “Perhaps here ye can find it – the bit that makes ye yerself and no one else.”

We stayed until I was almost asleep, feeling boneless as a jellyfish. My mind ebbed and raced, examining thoughts like gemstones only to quickly discard them. I wondered if I dove deep enough if I could retrieve Jamie’s past aches and help him heal them all. He was mostly silent, leaving me to my convoluted thoughts, but I found indescribable solace in his company.

That night I slept almost peacefully again. There in the water, I found that Jamie bore no scars and I could have a million names - and still be myself.


	9. 3.4

**3.4**

I stretched my legs, the tender collateral ligaments moaning in displeasure of such an effort, so early in the morning. I didn’t want to injure myself and my self-defence lessons tended to get fairly vicious.

I turned my head when I heard the door open – we used an annex building, converted into a small gym, to train. To my surprise Jamie’s eyes greeted me, instead of Willie’s good humoured face.

“Where is Willie?” I asked, brushing my hands against each other. Jamie was wearing loose sweatpants and a black t-shirt, looking annoyingly awake and cheerful for someone about to endure physical activity before 7 a.m.

“Good morning to ye _too_ , Sassenach. He had other duties to attend to, so he’ll be late to join ye.” Jamie replied, slowly rotating his neck to warm up. I couldn’t help but to remember his scars and felt a pang at the vision of that fragile skin being tested. “I dinna want ye to miss any training, so I’m taking over for today.”

“How nice.” I snorted, but smiled at him. “I guess having a spare morning was too much to ask anyway.”

We started with a series of kicks, my objective being to hit him in the kidney area – the groin would be more effective, of course, but would seriously jeopardize his ability to go on training me, if I was successful. I took a staggered stance, facing Jamie, and kicked with my leg straight out and upward – I had learned to lean back slightly from the waist in order to help balance. With a swift motion, he avoided my leg and stepped aside grabbing my foot and projecting me to the ground. I emitted a fain _“Ah”_ , as the entire volume inside my lungs was knocked out by the blow.

Jamie offered me a hand to get up and I noticed the way his eyes roamed across my body, making sure I wasn’t truly hurt. I grumbled a testy _“I’m fine, you bastard”_.

Soon enough I was boiling with a mixture of anger – mostly with myself, for not being able to hit him even once, but also with him for displaying my weaknesses with such clarity – and frustration. I groaned and lunged for him, hours and hours of lessons forgotten, pushed into the outskirts of my mind by my hot temper. Jamie twisted his body, and within the blink of an eye, was pressing me into a powerful bear hug.

“Ye’re a fierce wee thing, Sassenach.” He laughed hoarsely close to my ear. “But ye shouldn’t let yer emotions get the best of ye – to win a fight with a bigger opponent ye’ll need yer wits.”

I hissed – confirming him I was the wildcat he thought me to be, instead of the classy lioness. His body shook with laughter, deep in his throat like a purr, and he pressed my arms against my body even further.

“And _you_ shouldn’t be so overconfident, _Agent Fraser_.” I took a couple of shallow breaths and, as Willie had thought me, dropped my weight down swiftly, mimicking a fast squat. I felt Jamie gasp behind me in surprise, as I placed my feet wider than hip-width, preparing to shift my hips to the side in order to create some space in which to hit him.

But, of course, he foresaw my feeble attempt and rotated his large torso, falling backwards and tacking my entire body, still pressed against him.  We hit the floor together, his arms shielding me as I laid atop of him.

I opened my eyes, slightly panting, and glared into the blue of his own eyes. Our faces stood separated by mere inches, so much so I noticed a golden spot inside one of his irises, like a drop of gold panned from a river. Jamie was serious, his inviting lips almost imperceptibly opened, all previous mischief erased by a blazing fierceness.

He didn’t move to let go of me – his arms still held me, his hands just above the dimples on my lower back – and my head was suddenly filled with thoughts of _him_ , the shape of him pressed against mine not to achieve victory but _surrender_ ; the powerful glory of his strong body entirely put at my disposal, _serving me_. How I would avoid to rake his back not to hurt him, how I would trap him with my thighs, biting his lip until he asked – _begged_ – for -

“Jamie! Claire!” Willie blurted, almost breathless, as he opened the door. Jamie’s eyes still wouldn’t leave mine, studying me in exquisite detail. I could swear his hand moved in a light caress, memorizing something, as he slowly answered to the coming agent.

“What is it, Willie?”

“Ye need to come!” Willie nervously fumbled with his hair, approaching the looks of an unkempt dog. “A bomb just exploded in the _Royal Mile_.”


	10. 3.5

**3.5**

Transfixed by the images playing on the monitor, I stood there, a terrible cold taking over my body. Somewhere close I heard Jamie cursing in _Gaidhlig_ , his voice rich with anger and helplessness.

_“This morning the sun rises in blood over Edinburgh.”_ The young blonde reporter stated dramatically, her face serious. _“Just as the city was waking up for the day, a bomb placed near the pub “The World’s End” exploded, leaving at least four dead and twelve gravely wounded. The police has yet to confirm a terrorist attack, although it’s certainly treating it as such for the time being. The Prime Minister is expected later today at the scene...”_

I felt so incredibly defeated. _This_ was the reason I has been recruited in the first place – to stop such awful things from happening. And yet, I was already losing even before I had been placed on the real chessboard. With weird fascination, I watched the injured crying on the streets, people running hectically trying to escape an invisible threat. A single shoe had been forgotten on the pavement and I worried senselessly for that person limping away, partially barefooted. I knew the names of the victims would be in my mind for the rest of my days – I’d repeat them as a mantra, use them to strengthen my resolve and, sometimes, they would turn an accusing finger towards me in my dreams.

“Do you think…?” I numbly asked Jamie.

“Aye.” He gritted his teeth, his fists firmly closed. I could almost detect the faint smell of blood, oozing from his palms, in the places where his nails had pierced through skin. “It’s _them_. We were expecting something like this to happen for some time now. I _just_ – we _hoped_ –“ Jamie shook his head, speechless. I wanted to hold him against me, as we had been not half an hour before – to give him whatever comfort my arms were able to. To ease the senseless guilt I knew all too well he must be feeling, with the touch of my fingertips – but settled for a quick squeeze of his shoulder.

“What can we do?” I asked him softly.

“We’re running out of time.” Jamie gave me a harrowing look, as he turned his back on the television – a panel of experts and analysts, swiftly brought together to comment on the possible significance and consequences of the attack, was now debating whether a gas leak was a plausible possibility. “It’s time ye know everything.”

I followed him to the study, our usual working space, looking bizarrely clean and organized after the chaos we had witnessed. He retrieved a thick file from the bottom drawer and placed two surveillance photographs on the polished desk. The two men portrayed were strikingly different - yet they both had a commanding presence, captured even by the lens, that made them much alike.

“Colum and Dougal Mackenzie.” Jamie pointed to each of them with one of his long fingers. “They own and direct _Leoch Enterprises_ – it started as a small distillery but they built an empire over the years, currently worth millions of pounds. Ye may know their most famous whiskey, _The Gathering_.” And I realized that the name of the company had sounded familiar for that exact reason. “They have their hands in lots of other things too. Construction, tourism, pharmaceutics - even weapons.”

“Busy blokes.” I snickered. Jamie gave me a weak smile - he seemed on edge, his body tensed to the point of breaking.

“Some years ago the MI5 started hearing troubling rumours concerning their affiliations.” He ruffled his red hair. “How they maybe sympathized and supported dangerous people, that wished to take Scotland in a very different direction. I was recruited because they’re my uncles, Claire.” Jamie spoke hurriedly, eager to unveil it all and unburden himself. “Brothers to my mother. For years my father kept me away from them, not trusting their morals nor their intentions. When I allegedly fell in disgrace from service, they were only happy to take me in.”

“Your family – _uncles_ -” I babbled, surprised beyond coherence.

“Aye.” He paced close to the window, to gather himself, before returning to the desk. “But even after these years I still couldna get their complete trust. They see my father when they look at me, I believe – how incorrupt and upstanding he was. Dougal is verra apprehensive of letting me anywhere near their secrets. But ye might have the perfect way in, Sassenach.” Jamie looked at me – there was concern there, but also something warmer, that might have been affection. “Colum has pycnodysostosis. It’s a gruesome disease and it’s verra advanced now – he has a personal doctor to tend him at all times, because the pain is sae great.” He tapped his finger on the photograph of his uncle, with his small jaw and prominent nose, betraying the abnormally dense bone, so brittle under his solemn face. “His previous doctor _mysteriously_ disappeared – and so it happens he needs a new one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday Maria RioBranco! Hope this still counts :)


	11. 3.6

**3.6**

Colum’s previous doctor had been persuaded by the MI5 to disappear, enjoying an early retirement in sunny and secluded Corsica, with the compliments of the agency. Somehow Jamie had managed to place his hands on the files of potential candidates and pass that information along. Director Raymond had destined an entire section of the MI5 to dig dirt on those candidates and, when their lives revealed to be too righteous or spotless, to fabricate a penchant for gambling or a past of kleptomania, which made them entirely unsuitable for the job. The file of a _Doctor Claire Randall_ would soon appear from a seemingly innocent source – a woman beyond reproach, with no attachments or indiscretions – well, _perfect_ , really.

Later that day, as I walked towards the front door to meet Jamie for our surveillance training, I dwelled on the implications of what he had told me. He was working undercover not only in a dangerous environment, but also deceiving his _own family_. Although I entirely believed in his loyalty to Scotland, I suspected it pained him greatly to serve by betraying his own blood, as _bad_ as that blood might turn out to be. 

I looked around, searching for him. In spite of the daunting events of the morning, he had insisted that we maintained our routine of training, deeming it more important than ever.

“Ready, Sassenach?” He greeted me, coming around the house. He was wearing dark jeans and a brown leather jacket, and my breath hitched in my throat at the sight of him.

“Sure.” I replied laconically, fighting the wave of heat that threatened to flood me. The ghost of my thoughts – _desires_ \- during our fight, as our bodies had been pressed against each other on the floor, touched me with a teasing finger. _“He is attractive, yes!”_ I admonished myself. _“But he is work. Don’t make this even more complicated than it needs to be.”_

“I think it’s time to take this to the next level.” I gave him a confused look and he chuckled. “We’ll go to the nearby village tonight. Yer mission is to detect if we’re being followed and identify the individual, if so.”

“Fine.” I nervously fumbled with the plaid scarf I had placed around my neck. “Do I have a cover?”

“Aye.” He smiled and started to walk towards the potent black car, parked in the driveway. “ _I am_ yer cover. We are to be a happy couple for the night, having a romantic getaway.”

“ _Hmpf_.” I sniffed, pretending to be totally indifferent, trying to resume the snarky front that was safe. _Neutral_. “I’m sure spotting the agent following us will be a piece of sweet cake, compared to pretending I’m in love with _you_.”

“I’m sure it will.” He laughed deep in his throat, a seductive sound that shot through the back of my tongue, making me thirsty. “The sacrifices we have to do are never-ending, Sassenach. I’ll try my best not to be _completely_ unpleasant, though.”

“You might just pull a muscle doing it.” I pretended to look through the window, as he started the car. It was the first time I was leaving the safe house premises after my arrival and I was excited, although fairly apprehensive.

It was a lovely village, quaint and old-fashioned, with a long street that basically crossed its entirety. People were out in force, enjoying a lovely sunset in spite of the chilled air, shopping and talking in small groups. I walked side by side with Jamie and almost yelped when his hand grabbed mine, entwining our fingers. He gave me a sideways glance and guided my hand to his mouth, softly kissing my knuckles.

“We have to really commit to it.” He whispered, the corner of his mouth slightly up. “Or people will think we had a fight. A couple at odds always brings unwanted attention.”

I stopped at the pretence of examining a shop window, a lovely display of _patisserie_. “Don’t enjoy yourself _too_ much, _Agent Fraser_.” I growled, quickly eyeing everyone around us through the glass reflection. Jamie only grinned in answer.

We kept walking, our hands linked. I franticly tried to ignore the easiness of it, the portrait of tenderness as he slightly brushed my naturally crooked little finger, and struggled to concentrate on the task at hand. I stopped to allegedly tie my shoelace and tilted my head to the side, pretending to laugh at something titillating _my lover_ had said.

He halted near a fountain in the town square and lovingly embraced me, leaning over against the cold stone. My arms came around his waist and I felt the small pistol he had brought, just in case, wedged in the waistband of his jeans, hidden behind the soft leather of his jacket. Jamie looked into my eyes and brushed my cheek, playing with a stray lock of my hair. “See anything?” He asked in a low voice, his lips barely moving, as if he was deciding how to kiss me.

I came closer to him, nuzzling his neck - his smell there almost inebriating - as I whispered against his ear. “The brunette woman in the black trench coat with the red gloves. She is definitely following us.”

“Well done, Sassenach!” Jamie smiled, holding my chin with his long fingers. “That is Agent Geneva Dunsany. Seems that ye have been learning, after all.”

I _had_ learned. The telltale signs of a spy on the move. How to use quotidian movements in my favour. How an extra step could make the difference in spotting someone following me.

How easy it was pretending Jamie and I were a couple.


	12. 3.7

**3.7**

The feeling of cold fabric under my battered body was so blissful, I let out a small moan. Willie had been relentless in our training and I was proud to recognize I almost held my own against him for a while.  _Almost_.  

Roughly a week had passed since the bomb exploded in Edinburgh – a couple of wounded hadn’t been able to resist the serious third degree burns and internal bleedings, quickly joining the death count. The police had finally finished the inquiry, concluded it to be a terrorist attack of sorts, but none of the usual suspects – namely _ISIS_  – had come forward to claim the authorship. In the absence of a culprit, fear crept in, occupying the void as a festering parasite. When you don’t know what to fear, you tend to fear everything.

A quick knock sounded on my bedroom door. I sighed and dragged myself to open it, expecting to see Willie’s gentle eyes, worried that he had been too hard on me. I could use an ice pack.

“May I come in?” Jamie asked solemnly, as I gaped at him. His skin had acquired a tone close to cinnamon, after many sessions in the solarium. As if the breeze had blown through me, I vividly remembered the smell of his skin, under his jaw, where blood throbbed so close to the surface.

“Of course.” I stood aside, allowing him in. My room was pretty much a monk cell - except for the comfortable mattress and fluffy coverlets -, composed of basic furniture and without any sort of decorations. The only visible object was the biography of  _Claire Randall_ , which I already knew by heart –  _her life was now mine_.

“I came to say goodbye.” He said softly, his eyes avoiding mine, as he examined a piece of fluff on the floorboards. “My vacation time is over, so I’m expected back at _Leoch_ tomorrow.”

“How was Greece?” I said jokingly, but felt a tight knot forming on my throat. The idea of being in the safe house without him made me queasy.

“ _Intriguing_.” Jamie smiled. “I met the strangest lass. I’m hoping to meet her again.”

“Oh.” I said, mildly embarrassed, in spite of his mischievous tone. “You’ll see me soon enough, I believe.”

“Aye.” He moved to sit on my bed and waved his hand, inviting me to do the same. I forced myself not to notice that we were both sitting in  _bed together_ , his knee almost touching mine. “But, ye ken, the next time ye’ll see me I’ll be a different man, Claire. I might have to say and do some unpleasant things, things ye dinna agree with. Ye may not like me very much then. And we’ll have to pretend to never had met before.”

“I’ll be another person too.” I agreed, my voice wavering. “We both have parts to play and I know that.”

“Good.” He nodded, his fingers – nails short, a small scar in the shape of a crescent moon on his index finger - gently brushing the cover of my bed, just a whisper away from my own fingertips. “I hope ye can remember the man that  _I am_  then, Sassenach.” The barely disguised longing and hope in his voice almost undid me.

“When you took me to the hotsprings,” I said haltingly. “You showed me that I could keep both me and my alias within and not lose something – something  _precious_ to me. You pushed me when I needed to be pushed and cared for me like a friend.” I swallowed hard, his eyes locked with mine. “You made me angry when I needed to feel something,  _anything_ – you gave me something I could use. You never lied, even when you couldn’t tell me the truth.” I gave him a tender smile. “ _That_  is the man I’ll remember. I’ll keep him safe with me, if you ever need to conjure him.  _I’ll keep you_ , Jamie.”

“Thank ye.” He said with a husky voice, and closed his eyes, looking heartbreakingly vulnerable. “I have something for ye.”

From his pocket he drew out a small black velvet bag, which he handed to me. Inside it I discovered a necklace of baroque pearls, cold but strangely alive against my palm, as if they had been trapped inside a shell all along, just recovered from fresh water.

“If ye ever need to talk to me somewhere safe,” He explained, as I examined the pearls, fascinated. “Wear this at  _Leoch_ and I’ll find a way to contact ye. I’ll find ye, Claire.”

I nodded silently, gulping to swallow the tears that I sensed were too close to emerge, liberated by the thoughtfulness of his gesture, by the warmth in his eyes. Jamie got up and, bending over me in benediction, kissed my forehead.

“I wish we had met before.” He whispered against my hair, so I couldn’t read his face. “In a life where I could talk to ye about my home, Lallybroch. About the antics at RAF and the lads I used to call my friends. Where we could go fencing and maybe I’d be brave enough to kiss ye at yer door, looking sae lovely with yer hair curling in the moonlight.”

Jamie walked to the door and opened it. I couldn’t say for sure he was still there, if he still heard me when I whispered back. “I would have liked that.”


	13. 4.0

**4.0**

They gave me a small Blackberry phone, a secure line that I should keep disconnected, only turning it on to send precious information to the MI5 headquarters. They wanted to know who inside  _Leoch_ was involved in the organization, any future targets and dates, and definitive proof of terrorist liaisons, that could withstand a hard trial in the public eye – my task was to supply it all, without getting discovered and, fundamentally, whacked off.

I was blindfolded and taken to my new home, where I would wait for a contact from _Leoch Enterprises_. By then my file had made its way to Colum’s desk, so we were all hoping that the waiting game would be a short one. I was to act naturally, avoiding as much as possible to look like someone who is waiting for something to happen.

The experience of walking and sleeping in  _Claire Randall’s_  house was surreal, to say the least. The department had managed to meticulously Photoshop pieces of my life and successfully transplant them into _her_  life, so I caught myself looking into my happy face, beaming next to a sombre man that was meant to be Frank Randall. That particular photograph had been taken by my roommate the day I graduated – someone had stolen away that happiness and turned it into something else. My closet was filled with clothes that had nothing to do with my practical nature and simple taste. My hand was adorned with two golden wedding rings, the visible mark of a grieving heart, yearning for a lost love.

I tried to build some semblance of a routine. I went out for coffee in the morning, reading my newspaper at the same table every day – a carefully selected position, where I could see the people passing by, without seeming that I was staring. I went jogging or fencing – in a new arena where no one knew me -, thankful that  _we_  shared at least  _that_ , worrying that I would lose all the hard-won muscle, conquered in the safe house. In the afternoon I strolled, bought expensive clothes, gossiped in a beauty salon  _– Randall saw French manicure as a religion_  – and worried.

I missed Jamie.  _Embarrassingly so_. It pumped through me, like a second heart which had found its way to my chest, without asking if I could bear having another heart to care for. I replayed countless times his final words, when he had all but admitted that he harboured feelings for me - that he too saw the possibilities, the spectre of kisses and touches shared, erased because we had met on a collision course with danger. What would happen if Colum deemed Doctor Randall unfit to be his physician? Maybe someone would come and tell me that I could go home, forget it all, a pat on the back and I’d be on my happy way to  _Beauchamp_ again.  _I might never see Jamie again._

My dreams reeked with fear and restlessness. I knew  _Leoch_  could have found a way inside the house while I was away, someone out there could be listening – so I had to pretend at all times. I prayed that I wouldn’t scream in the middle of the night, my secrets spilled onto my pillow. I prayed for Jamie, the bravest and kindest man I knew, alone amongst our enemies, disguised as friends.

One day, almost six weeks after I started living as Claire Randall, I was dreamily walking across Princes Street, wondering how much longer would we wait before admitting I had failed. Almost in slow motion, I noticed a woman –  _Geneva Dunsany_  – quickly walking on the other side of the street. She didn’t even look my way – but her handbag had a red handkerchief attached to it, rippling as a flag on the wind.

_Someone was following me_ , the sign screamed. Colum had finally sent an employee to evaluate me.

That night I didn’t sleep. I prayed silently and fervently, placing all my faith in a God that had deserted me before.

_God - please, God. Shield Jamie in this night and all nights. And let me see him again._


	14. 4.1/2

_**4.½** _

When tectonic plates shift in the womb of the earth, an earthquake can be born. But when something shifts inside of us – when we collide into each other, furiously, recklessly – is that when mountains and oceans are born in our souls? Do we exist to change the landscape in which we were born, to shape each other, creating equal measures of beauty and destruction?

Officially I met Claire in the fencing arena, about two months afore the day she was recruited. But the truth – the entire truth –  _well_. I was being chiselled by her long before that day.

I was injured in a blast while serving, the flesh of my back almost melted away from my bones. I had saved lives that distant day, amongst dunes of sand, longing for the fresh soil and heather of Scotland – but I couldn’t even remember their faces for the longest time. Pain was everything I knew – I had been reduced to fighting to keep the waves of agony at bay, to keep whatever was left of me in a pretence of wholeness.

In the early days I was taken to a military hospital, but soon enough they realized that, if I was to have a real chance at healing, I needed the best care in the world. And so I was transported by helicopter to London and for weeks I remained abed in an Intensive Care Unit of a civilian hospital. The wounds on my back were so great that I had to be bound to the bed, belly down, to avoid trashing in pain and inadvertently wounding myself even further. During that time my world dwindled, restricted to what my eyes managed to grasp across the hallway, unable to move much as my skin slowly grew.

Across my room was part of the surgical ward. I became used to watching them – surgeons and patients - go about their routines, like disciplined bees in a hive. An entire world separated from me through a sterile glass window and I busied myself studying them, looking away from my own predicament.

I noticed _her_ right away – her hands lingered longer in her patients’ foreheads, a light tenderness turned blessing; her smile was warm enough for the crookest spine to aspire becoming straight again. Claire exuded purpose and care, a woman always on a mission, giving herself away so selflessly. In her wake sometimes there were tears, but always fuller hearts. She was beautiful, without making a fuss of it, but also without apologizing for being so in a heavily male-dominated world.

I became accustomed to seeing her – craved the sight of her as much as a strong painkiller, for she soothed me even when drugs couldn’t. Sometimes I would try to guess her name, built a story for her in my mind – the only constant being that she was single and wouldn’t mind a wrecked man at her side. I waited for her, coming for rounds on her patients, and despaired in the rare occasions when she wouldn’t.

That strange woman, so unique between a sea of blue caps, became the focal point of my struggle those weeks. She was entirely unaware of my existence – there wasn’t really any reason for her to look my way, bedridden in the secure environment of the Intensive Care Unit. And yet, she saved me, just by being there, by  _giving me hope that something would follow._

When Director Raymond appeared and my entire world shifted – another seism, one that would change my own landscape so much I would barely recognize myself -, the valley in which I had rested in her shadow did not disappear.

I knew I had only the illusion of choice in the matter. In this, I would serve as I always did.

But as I looked at Claire, I saw the life I wanted across the hallway. And mourned what could never be.


	15. 4.1

**_4.1_ **

I entered the elevator and pressed the button to the 10th floor. The building had an 11th floor, I noticed, but a security key was needed to achieve that landing. It seemed like the perfect place to hide important documents – plans for new products, made safe from corporate espionage, details on accounts in the Cayman Islands, maybe the next target of a  _terrorist organization_. I made a mental note to discover as much I could about it.

I scoured my expensive black handbag in search of a small mirror, examining my reflex as the elevator ascended. I looked professional and respectable wearing my black pantsuit and was glad to discover that my makeup was doing a nice job of covering the dark smudges under my eyes and any nervous perspiration.

After two weeks of being followed day and night by a myriad of different men - trying my best to look as innocent and boring as I could - the phone call had finally arrived two days before, summoning me to a meeting with Colum MacKenzie himself. He was interested in meeting me, his secretary had told me in a pleasant tone, and maybe talk about a position in which I could best serve him.

“Hello.” I greeted the woman sitting at an enormous desk, flanking big oak doors with an engraved  _“M”_  in stylized lettering - undoubtedly the chief’s domains. She raised her eyes from an appointment book, where she had been taking hurried notes, and I was faced with hypnotizing green irises, clearly evaluating me. For a moment, I felt like I was standing before a guardian snake, who would present me with a riddle to allow me access to a treasure trove – if I failed, I would probably serve as her impromptu dinner. She smiled – a devilish grin, that made nothing to sooth my increasing anxiety – and adjusted her luxurious blonde hair.

“Ah, ye must be Doctor Claire Randall.” She excitedly chirped. “I’m Geillis Duncan, Colum’s secretary. We spoke on the phone. He is already expecting ye, so ye can go right through.”

“Thank you”. I nodded in gratitude, squaring my shoulders, as I absentmindedly played with the golden wedding rings on my finger. “Lovely meeting you in person.”

“Good luck.” Geillis whispered conspiratorially as she opened the door for me. “I hope ye’re what he is looking for. Don’t be scairt by his stern looks, he’s a good man deep down.”

Colum sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, examining a report with vivid distaste, apparent in the grey eyes shielded by elegant glasses. I knew well enough what hid behind the polished wood - the deformed legs, bone and tissue shaped into constant soreness and a façade of remaining functionality. My heart softened, as usual inevitably touched by those who lived in pain, who made a fortress of it and allowed me in to witness it.

“Doctor Randall.” He acknowledged me, pointing for me to sit on the comfortable chair in front of him. “I’ve been searching for a suitable doctor to oversee my care for quite some time. It has been no easy task, I assure ye. But I was verra impressed by yer résumé – a woman who dinna shy away from challenges and kens the secrets of her profession.”

“I was very pleased to hear back from you.” I said, striving for coolness. Geillis entered the office, quiet as a shadow, and placed a tray with tea and biscuits between us, being dismissed afterwards with a short nod. “Had lost any hope, to be honest, after such a long time since I sent my application.”

“There were other candidates.” Colum replied with alacrity. “I noticed ye haven’t worked in quite some time. Tell me, Doctor Randall, why do ye wish to be back now?”

“Do call me  _Claire_ , please. After the loss of my husband,” My voice quivered, touched by fake sorrow. “I didn’t feel quite like myself. It was very difficult to cast aside my own grief and focus on other people’s problems. But I have reached a point where I feel that I need to recuperate that part of myself – I miss him dearly _, I always will_ , but being a doctor makes me come alive.”

He examined me for a moment, showing no sign of compassion or understanding. Eventually, he reached for his teacup and seemed satisfied. “Are ye familiar with my… _condition_? I understand that ye are a trauma surgeon, so this might be beyond yer skillset.”

“As you probably read in my curriculum,” I crossed my legs, keeping the graceful posture of Claire Randall. “Before I pursued the surgical field, I did some work in genetics. I am very aware of the challenges you might face.”

A quick knock on the door and a head, with glorious red hair, emerged from the threshold. It took every ounce of self-control not to cry out in joy and relief.  _Jamie_.   _Oh God, Jamie_.

“I’m sorry to disturb yer meeting, just to let ye know I’m back from the distillery, uncle.” He blatantly ignored me, his blue eyes fixed on Colum.

“Jamie, lad. May I present to ye Doctor Claire Randall? She might take up Beaton’s duties as my physician.”

“Welcome, doctor.” Jamie said dryly, seeming completely uninterested in my presence – a stab through my heart, his indifference forceful and cold as a steel blade. There was none of his usual warmth, of that quiet affection when he addressed me. “I’ll be in my office if ye need me, uncle.”

“Will ye come to the house tonight for dinner?” Colum asked, his voice suggesting a refusal wasn’t really an option to a sensible man.

“Nay.” Jamie shrugged and smiled apologetically, mischief playing in the corners of his mouth. “I’m going out with Laoghaire tonight.”


	16. 4.2

**_4.2_ **

I think the worst part was that he didn’t even look at me.

I kept waiting for that fraction of time when his eyes would slip to mine and I would be wordlessly reassured. But in that moment, I seemed to be inexistent to him, perhaps a vague afterthought. A disapproving sound made by Colum’s throat, another smile and juvenile wave, and he was gone.

Jamie had warned me in the safe house – I might not like the man he became when inside  _Leoch_. I could endure the appearance of coldness, even the blatant detachment, but there was a  _woman_ involved. According to my best knowledge she wasn’t part of  _Operation Broken Crown_  in any capacity. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was just another part of his cover; or if he was actually trying to build a life for himself, after such a long time pretending - to have something only for himself.

_I wish we had met before._  I had presumed it only to mean in a life previous to our secret activities; but maybe he also had tried to imply that his heart was already committed to another. The space I could have filled, like living water, might have already been taken by a woman capable of offering him simplicity, without divided allegiances.

I held on to my training, like a life raft, to keep me afloat when otherwise I would have drowned in convoluted emotions.

“Ach, young lads always thinking with their cocks!” Colum clicked his tongue. “Jamie has been seeing the lass for a fortnight and already he forgets his own kin.” And then, undoubtedly noticing the sudden paleness on my cheeks. “Are ye feeling unwell, Doctor Randall?”

“No.” I forced a smile into my lips, which I felt as grotesque and out of place as a Halloween pumpkin. “A bit chilled, that is all. Your nephew seems nice.”

“Aye, he’ll do. A fine head for numbers but only as wise as his years.” Colum grimaced, no doubt in pain, as he moved a leg under the table. “If ye become my doctor, ye’ll be expected to live in my house, to care for me whenever called upon. Ye’ll have yer own rooms and every comfort ye ask for, of course, and a day off every week to do as ye wish. When I’m here, ye can work in the infirmary office, make yerself useful by offering medical care to my employees. Is that a suitable agreement?”

I did my best to block Jamie out of my mind and concentrate on Colum’s words.

“I can make that work.” I smiled coyly. “Tell me, Mister MacKenzie, what treatment regimen are you currently following?”

And with that I entered the realm of medicine – opioid rotation, laxatives, ointments for neuropathic pain - the things I knew intrinsically almost without having to think about them. A kind of second brain that worked with its own language and established connections without all the clues. I dove head on, determined to impress Colum MacKenzie with my sagacity and expertise – a few minutes later we had devised a plan for his care and I had accepted, without any attempt at fake modesty, the place as his physician.

The next few days went by uneventful, as I relocated to Colum’s house and became acquainted with his routines. I knew the best way to acquire his trust was by excelling as his doctor, so I studied furiously and began not only new medication but also acupuncture treatments, a useful resource I had picked on during my residency, doing a rotation in Pain Unit under Doctor Willoughby. I was satisfied to greet Colum at breakfast next morning, the first time I had seen him without deep dark circles around his eyes, an encouraging sign of a night well-slept, without the looming shadow of pain – I could swear he almost smiled.

I barely saw Jamie; and when we actually met he had been polite, yet distant. There was always a task somewhere, a meeting he was already late to attend. Sometimes I would wonder if our conversations and glances had been only a dream – if this man was in fact a stranger, whose face was unfortunately the same as that of a man I had loved.

On my first day off since my successful infiltration, I went to my house to grab some clothes and recover my mail. A package had been delivered in my name, received by the doorman who cheerfully presented me with a white box, fancy enough to herald an expensive boutique. I smiled and thanked him, distractedly mumbling something about how anxious I had been to receive my order.

A white handbag slept between layers of delicate pink silk. Inside it, concealed within the lining of the fabric, a message waited for me.

_“The crown is broken. The queen weeps”._


	17. 4.3

**_4.3_ **

Next morning, I put on the pearls Jamie had given me.

_“The crown is broken. The queen weeps”._

A cryptic message to an oblivious recipient, but incredibly disheartening to me. The MI5 had taken the risk of reaching out to warn me that another terrorist attack was imminent, and they were taking the threat very seriously. Throughout the night I had repeated inside my head the names of those we had lost in the explosion at the  _Royal Mile_ ; I had heard their screams and pleas for help once more. The warning about the impending attack must have started with Jamie – perhaps he had uncovered something big since his return.

I needed to speak to him; to know exactly how I could help preventing whatever was scheduled to happen. I couldn’t bear the thought of adding more names to that list. And if I was being entirely honest, I craved to talk to him in earnest; to hear my name coming from his lips - to have his eyes acknowledge mine. It was vital that my head was entirely on the mission at hand and only with him I seemed to manage to find that place.

I went directly to  _Leoch Enterprises_  when the  _chauffeur_  at Colum’s service came to pick me up at my place. He was in a dark mood that day, barely gathering enough pleasantness to give me a growled  _“good mornin’”._ I changed his fentanyl transdermal patch, noticing that the lines on his face seemed to erupt more from a place of concern than pain.

“My brother – Dougal - arrives tomorrow.” He said at last, his fingers rhythmically tapping on his desk. “Ye’ll meet him at the house. He has been away, doing business with a company in Turkey to increase our exports of  _The Gathering_.”

“Oh.” I replied softly, allowing him space to expand on whatever he was trying to tell me, and clearly was reluctant to voice.

“My brother can be quite inconvenient at times.”  Colum snickered. “If he disturbs ye in any way, Doctor Randall, I want to hear it from ye right away.”

“Alright.” I nodded, massaging his hand with an anti-inflammatory ointment. “But I’m perfectly capable of handling it, I’m sure.”

“Ye’re a feisty woman, Doctor Randall.” He sighed, relaxing a bit under my ministrations. “But he is a dangerous man when crossed and I urge ye not to forget that.”

“I won’t. I’ll come to you, if there is anything you need to know.” I smiled and began tidying everything, so he could start his work for the day.

After I was assured that Colum was comfortable enough for the moment, I padded towards the infirmary where I usually spent most of my time. The  _Influenza_ season had started, so I was expecting a procession of snotty noses and wheezing chests. I was distractedly playing with my necklace, thinking that I undoubtedly needed to order more inhalers to stock up the cabinets, when I came across Jamie.

He wasn’t alone.

Jamie was leaning against an office’s door and a blonde woman, petite and delicate as a porcelain doll, was almost glued to his body, her hands placed comfortably on his chest, her face turned to him in an ardent and expectant way, as if he was about to kiss her.

“Excuse me.” I made my presence noticed in a cold voice. There were no tears forming in my eyes – only anger made of heat, red and burning, which filled me with a solid strength that kept me going.

Jamie startled and his eyes jumped to me, for the briefest of times completely unguarded and sorrowful. I could tell the moment he noticed I was wearing the pearls; how he fought the urge to call me right there and then, as I walked away.

That afternoon I told Colum I had some personal errands to run, so I couldn’t be going home with him right away. He still seemed preoccupied with something else, so I was excused without further inquiries.

I walked without a destination, stopping periodically or changing my course without apparent motive, to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I entered a shoe shop and stayed long enough to convince myself that I was truly on my own. And then I waited for _him_  to come; to find me as he had promised back in the safe house.

I was near a park, watching children going for the last ride on the swing for the day, when I heard the low purr of a potent engine. I peeked above my shoulder and saw a rider approaching, with a full black motorcycle helmet and a dark leather jacket. I would recognize that body anywhere – I had been under it in close combat; its most intimate scars had been revealed to me, as a gift; I had walked beside it in the moonlight; dreamt of that powerful grace coming to me in desire, until I came awake with a moan, my body moist and desperate for its phantom touch.

Silently, he offered me a helmet and I took it, straddling the impressive motorcycle behind him. Soon we were riding together against the coming night, my arms firmly around his waist, racing towards a place where there was truth between us again.


	18. 4.4

**_4.4_ **

Jamie drove us to an old building on the periphery of Edinburgh. He was an accomplished motorcycle rider, skilfully dodging obstacles and cars trapped in line, its passengers eager to get home after a long day at work. My heart kept pounding inside my ribcage and, not for the first time, I thought maybe the bones there served not only to protect it, but also to avoid its escape, a bird seeking the exhilaration of freedom.

He took off his helmet after parking, the soft waves of his auburn and copper hair moist from perspiration, after being submitted to the sultry heat. He tilted his head, urging me to follow him.

The wooden stairs of the building were narrow as the entry of a cave in the belly of the earth and I caught a soft whiff of mould and ancient plants. Jamie kept ascending – I could hear his breathing, fast and shallow - until we arrived at the last landing, no more than a cubicle the size of a pantry, leading to a slightly scratched door. He produced a golden key and we hurried inside, glad to escape the oppressive space.

It could have been the attic in any thriller movie, where the brave hero comes across a terrible heirloom that unleashes hell upon his life. The ceiling was low enough for me to be sure that Jamie would be forced to crawl in some areas and would always be in danger of severely banging his head; a spider had taken up to building a suitable silky castle in the corner; the floorboards creaked with every reluctant step I took. But instead of boxes and decrepit pieces of furniture, the room was almost completely empty, save for a table with two chairs, a minuscule armoire and a bed - so low that seemed more of a mattress laying on the floor.

As I inspected our lodgings, Jamie locked the door and stood against it, watching me.

“Is this another safe house?” I asked, avoiding his gaze, as I noticed the particles of dust, dancing in the golden light that bathed the room, coming from the imposing window carved on the ceiling. Soon enough we would be capable of reaching falling stars with our outstretched hands.

“Aye. It’s the best I could think of with such short notice.” His voice sounded unhinged. “ _Claire.”_

_The way he said my name_  – it was a clear shot through my heart, a deadly assassin casting a sentence upon the most willing victim. I didn’t turn to look at him, but felt him walking until my back was almost pressed against his chest. “Would ye look at me,  _Sassenach_?”

The timorous way he whispered it – the endearment he had given me, which felt as _mine_  as my birth name – told me how afraid he was, that the things he had done had been unforgivable.

“I need to know what is going on.” I swallowed hard, the heat of him coming over me like a wave, a helpless woman drowning in supposedly safe shores. “What did you discover about the next attack?”

“I’ll tell ye everything, Claire.” He touched my arm and I realized he was still wearing black leather gloves, as if he was too afraid of scorching me with his skin, of leaving a mark traceable to our enemies.  _Of marking me as his._  “But I need to look at ye first _. Please, Claire.”_

I exhaled and went almost boneless against him, pliable enough for him to turn me. I gasped seeing his fathomless blue eyes, so close to mine, intently examining my face.

“I missed ye.” Jamie sighed, his covered hands drawing circles on my forearms. “ _God_ , I missed ye so, _Sassenach_.”

“How about Laoghaire?” I spat wickedly, struggling not to let myself be enraptured by his voice, his touch, the emotions dripping from him. “I thought you had no time to miss  _anyone else_.”

I must as well have slapped him. Jamie looked hurt and tired, my blow the most painful in a series of wounds and scars that marked him.

“I tried to warn ye, while ye were training.” His voice was hoarse and he seemed to hesitate, in order to find suitable words. “There are things I would do for the success of this mission that I wouldna do to save my own soul. When I accepted it, I had to let go of pride – and sometimes even honour, in order to best serve my duty. Laoghaire is not only part of my cover, but also a way to acquire information we need.”

“Is that everything she is to you?” I shook my head, folding my arms against my chest – maybe to protect my own heart - stepping away from his touch. “ _A pawn_? A means to an end?”

“I take no pride in it, believe me. In deceiving someone innocent in such a manner.” He clenched his jaw and looked away, ashamed. “What would ye have me say? That  _I love her_?”

“Do you?” I demanded, my lips feeling numb, kissed by the invisible poison of jealousy. Jamie gawked at me and he seemed truly angry.

“No.” He growled, almost ripping off his gloves, throwing them on the dusty floor. “And ye ken it well.”

“I don’t know much anymore.” My hand went to the pearls he had given me, feeling suddenly suffocated, restless as if I was about to crawl out of my own skin. “I can’t tell a truth from a lie. Everything is clouded – everything is tainted by this  _fucking mission_.”

“Ye promised ye would keep me.  _The real me_.” Jamie whispered, softly touching my cheek, afraid I would run away from him. “Have ye lost me then?”

“What is the truth, Jamie?” I begged him, closing my eyes and surrendering to his touch, as he traced my earlobe with a delicateness that made me dizzy and a little more than breathless.

“Every time I look at ye - I am truthful, Claire. Every moment I yearn for ye, when I think I will lose my damn mind without ye. When I say yer name and ye ken I’d take ye to bed and make ye mine, that is the truth. I’m at my truest when I’m yers,  _mo nighean donn_.”

I raised my hands and placed my palms against his chest, feeling a heart that couldn’t lie, that would beat always for me. He closed his eyes, trembling with passion, inhaling the scent of my hair.

“We shouldn’t.” I whispered, but my traitorous hands were already finding a way to undress him from his leather jacket. He groaned, deep in his throat, needful – the small sounds he made arose tingles in my skin, sent a powerful shiver down my spine.

“My duty is nothing compared to the love of ye. I canna breathe while ye think I’m playing ye false.” The tip of his fingers traced my bottom lip, desire burning in his eyes like an everlasting flame. “ _God_ , the love of ye tests me to my very soul, Claire. But I can’t deny it any longer.”


	19. 4.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nsfw

**_4.5_ **

Our first kiss was cautious and slightly awkward, as we tried to find our way towards joining, while too afraid that the other would dissipate as fog touched by a sunbeam. As we came apart to breathe, marvelled and afraid as only lovers can be, we joined our foreheads and gazed at each other’s eyes.

“I thought I’d die from not touching ye in the hot springs. I wanted so much to comfort ye.” Jamie whispered breathlessly, nestling my face between his palms. “Besides, my cock almost snapped in two that night, thinking of ye, all wet and warm almost naked beside me. How I longed for the right to feel ye so, to discover if I could please ye.”

I kissed him again in response - because words seemed rather meaningless in this new language we were discovering - this time a deeper connection, more daring, as our tongues danced together. He tasted of coffee, which he probably drank to strengthen his resolve before he met me, dark and rich as my desire for him.

As we lost ourselves fully, his fingers became more audacious, exploring the curves of my waist and the sensitive skin just below my breasts. I growled, a greedy whimper that would have been the cause of profound shame and mortification in any other circumstance of my life, as his powerful hands found my  _derrière_ and lifted me with a quick impulse. He started to carry me in the general direction of the bed, but distracted as we were by the business of ravishing each other’s mouths, he seriously miscalculated the distance between the ceiling and his head. Soon a loud thump echoed through the attic as Jamie spectacularly bashed his head against it, crowned by a heartfelt  _“Fuck!”._

I roared with laughter and his own body shook with barely supressed guffaw, to the point that he almost dropped me to the floor.

“Are you alright?” I nuzzled his neck, torn between hilarity and arousal, as he succeeded in depositing me on the bed in one piece. He watched me under his lashes, slowly examining his damaged scalp with his fingers, where surely a bump was forming. Eventually, Jamie shrugged and squeezed my thigh in reassurance.

“Not even a concussion would stop me from making love to ye now,  _Sassenach.”_ He promised, lightly sucking on the sensitive skin right above the curve of my breasts, next to the pearls that had brought him to me, making me yelp and then moan as he applied more pressure. He straightened up for a moment, to remove the black pistol hidden in his waistband, which he deposited on the small table. Jamie must have noticed the concern dawning in my eyes – the weapon a clear reminder of the things holding us apart before -, because when he came back he laid down next to me and caressed my cheek with heartbreaking tenderness. “There’s only the two of us, Claire. Nothing can come between us here.”

He undressed me slowly, with a patience that never betrayed his hunger, thoroughly kissing every curve and plain of my emerging skin. My body’s response to him marvelled me in its intensity, as even a touch light as a feather made me gasp, a painful desire building between my legs like a furnace.

I had had other lovers and considered myself to be a fairly sexual woman, even if I never truly connected with any of those men on a more emotional level – I had been naked, but never did I shed those layers that served as protection to the frail thing beneath. Some were experienced and offered me the benefit of the knowledge of a woman’s body  _(what, when, how to touch_ _)_ _;_  some were enthusiasts, delivering in effort what was missing in  _finesse_ ; and in one terrible moment back in college, I had known fear in a man’s bed, that sense of overpowering strength that could make resolute boundaries dissolve.

But I’ve never felt the way I did with Jamie. He was generous, in a way that a man can only be with the one he truly loves; every word and touch held meaning and purpose - a window for him to see through, carved by his fingertips, that went straight to my soul and not only my body.

I took off his shirt, admiring the hardened lowland of his stomach, the softness of the copper hairs growing there. He allured me to turn on my belly and, as he held my hands with one of his own above my head, he revered my body with his mouth, kissing and licking from the shell of my ear, down my neck, across my shoulder blades and down my spine. I panted against the pillow and squirmed beneath him, seeking friction in the sheets, my nipples hardened to the point of exquisite pain.

“Ye are beautiful.” He whispered – and I believed him. “ _So beautiful_  it breaks my heart,  _mo nighean donn._ ” Jamie ran a hand down my buttocks, releasing me from the confinement of my underwear, and dipped two fingers into my body in a swift movement.

“ _Jamie.”_  I moaned, as his hand thrusted within me with the surety and delicateness of a man tempting fate. I couldn’t help but to move my hips in time with him, whispering incoherent words of love and occasional curses, aware of his body’s evident response against my back.

Eventually, feeling that he had taken me to the edge time and again – slowing down  _every damn time_  I stood on the precipice - he let go of my hands and I rolled to face him, pulling him to me with determination. I pinched his nipple in playful punishment for the trial he had forced me through – savouring his throaty, lustful, laugh - and kissed him deeply, our joined efforts successful in relieving him of the remaining clothes.

When we were finally joined at full length, Jamie let out a strangled  _Gaidhlig_ curse, and I bit his shoulder to avoid screaming. He moved almost imperceptibly in me, more teasing than anything, and his fingers found the sensitive spot between my legs, the sheer sensation of that intimate touch almost unbearable. I gently traced the scars on his back, fearful that I would hurt him amidst my pleasure, and he kissed my brow, smiling.

“Dinna be afraid to touch me, Claire.” He kissed my palm, entwining our fingers. “It doesna hurt anymore. I feel nothing will ever hurt again, so long as I have ye.”

“I love you.” I pressed my palms on his scars, wondering if the heat irradiating from my skin would leave them marked there, and almost grated with my nails when he finally began moving in earnest, his own way of saying  _“And I, you.”_

Blow by blow, touch by touch, a dance where every pullback was a way to seek further connection; until he guided me to  _that place_ , where my mind fractured into a million incandescent lights; and I found that to be the only pleasurable wound –  _utterly cleaved, fragmented, breached_  - he would ever tolerate inflicting me. He quickly followed me in release and we laid together, shattered but unbroken, moulded but unbent.

One of his hands brushed my thigh, as the other cupped my naked breast – not in that burning fervour, but in quiet courting. I closed my eyes and smiled, kissing his shoulder, my feet gently stroking his powerful shins, as we laid entangled – a pattern of human tealeaves, divinatory of profound happiness. To find laughter in a man’s bed, the confidence to know it meant only joy and not any attempt at mocking; to be able to surrender without fear, received by a touch that knew grace. My heart swelled with love for him,  _of him_.

I felt the touch of Jamie’s fingers tracing my mouth, and when I opened my eyes, he was glaring at me – so much love and respect in his eyes that a knot formed in my throat. “What are you thinking?” I said in a hoarse voice, entirely spent on calling his name.

“I was thinking of the first time I saw ye.” He brushed my hair and rolled to get me atop of him, my cheek against his heart. “I think it’s time that ye ken for how long I have loved ye.”


	20. 4.6

**_4.6_ **

He told me a story about the journey of a broken man towards healing, and the woman in scrubs who had incarnated his pursuit of happiness. Afterwards I made love to him again, finding in me a sense of exquisite tenderness tempered my burning lust, riding him gently until he screamed my name. And while I drank down the joy of his moans, I knew I had served him well.

We were still joined, our sweat-coated bodies serving as shells to protect the small ember of desire which seemed to never fade away completely, when I found the ability to speak again.

“Have you kissed her?” I asked softly, bracing myself for the answer – I felt I’d be able to deal with it, so long as he was still inside me. “ _Laoghaire_?”

His hands squeezed my waist, pulling me tighter against him, as if afraid I would vanish. “Aye.”

“Have you _fucked_  her?” I was proud that my voice trembled only a little, an aftershock of a much bigger wave. I knew I had no claim over him before that moment; and yet my jealousy had no knowledge of boundaries defined by time and social convention.

He tilted his head – undoubtedly seeking my eyes - and his hand found my chin to force me to look at him. “No.  _Christ_ , Claire,  _no_. I couldna, not after…. _no_.”

I silently played with the hairs on his chest, idly stroking his nipple, my mind racing after his words.

“Do ye believe me?” Jamie questioned, his voice deep and fearful.

I inhaled the scent of him, a mixture of his soap, sweat and our lovemaking, and nodded at last. “I believe you.  _I do_ , Jamie. But I need to know what you found out. What is happening?”

He moved to sat up against the old headboard and took my body along, perching me on his lap so we could face. “Laoghaire is the manager of  _Leoch_ ’s distillery. She has access to all the accounting files, receipts, order invoices and such. I have suspected for a long time that someone is using the distillery to move money into the wrong hands, in exchange of knowledge on weapons and terrorist tactics. I had to get close enough,” At the mention he almost shook, his arms embracing me in regret. “So I could get an opportunity to go through the files.”

“And you found something.” I encouraged him, stroking his mussed up red hair.

“Aye. For almost a year now, an amount small enough not to raise suspicions, has been transferred monthly to a corporation in France and labelled has  _“corking expenses”._  But after some inquiries I found that  _Les Corbeaux_  is a shell corporation, with no real business, and only leads to another shell corporation behind it. But I kept going and ultimately found a link to an enterprise well known in Iran for selling chemicals during the day and explosives by night.”

“Maybe they already used whatever they acquired in the Royal Mile attack.” I offered, grateful that the heat of his body protected me partially from the chill induced by such news.

“Well, maybe the source was the same, but they have been transferring money up until two weeks ago.” Jamie thoughtfully traced my earlobe with his fingers. “Which tells me they were paying for something else. Besides, there wasn’t really a claim on the first attack, and I think they believe it is time the world hears their cries for Scotland’s independence.”

“How do we stop it?” I asked him fiercely, my nails digging on his shoulders. “We can’t let  _that_ happen again, Jamie.”

“I searched everything in the distillery, but there aren’t any actual plans being made there.” He scratched his nose in contemplation, his eyes a darker shade of blue than usual. “If we were to find anything concrete, the only place I can think of is the secure terminal in the 11th floor at _Leoch_.”

“Who has the security key?” I insisted, galvanized by the possibility of actually taking some action.

“Several people have a key, so I’m sure I could _borrow_  one for us to use.” Jamie gave me a lopsided smile. “I have in the past, to do some scouting. The real problem is that the terminal needs an authorized fingerprint to activate the system. Without one, we are locked out.”

“I should be on my way, then.” I kissed his mouth, barely a brush of teasing lips, already mourning the distance we would have to maintain the moment we left the attic. Already craving the feel of him inside me, throbbing in time with the beating of my heart. “If I am to rob Colum’s fingerprints from his peppermint teacup.”


	21. 4.7

**_4.7_ **

Leaving Jamie in that attic was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

After unleashed, that part of us that belonged to one another, had to be contained again – and yet, it seemed to have grown too big to fit inside ourselves, leaving us awkward and slightly choked with it. We had parted without words, nodding to each other with a silent promise –  _of what, of when?_ – and he had kissed my forehead in blessing, as he had done when we said goodbye in the safehouse. But this time it wasn’t chaste, but full of our previous sins, sensual and scorching.

As I walked to the taxi that would drive me to Colum’s house, sensing Jamie’s eyes following me through the attic’s window, I felt naked of skin.  _Exposed_. I imagined his lips drinking down my shields, kissing away the layers of me, until his tongue caressed the darkness away and I could be free.

I apologized to Colum for being late, mumbling something about an old friend I had met during my outing, praying he wouldn’t smell Jamie in every inch of me. His eyes seemed troubled, distant as glaciers melting away, and I suspected his mind was very far away, out of reach from my words.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I asked him softly, carefully retrieving his teacup by the handle, barely touching the white porcelain, painted with blue forget-me-nots. “Are you in pain?”

My concern wasn’t an act – the sombre man had grown on me, during our days and nights of amiable coexistence, and I had learned to appreciate his wit and quiet conning. In truth, I had become quite fond of him, and truly cared for his well-being. I had a hard time reconciling this man with a potential terrorist, quietly plotting to bring death to Scotland, from the same library where he read poetry and watched his beloved birds.

“None ye can help me with, Claire.” I glanced at him, surprised – it was the first time he treated me by my first name, usually hiding behind the formality of my professional title. “It has been years since I last was so comfortable in this body, so removed from the physical pain of it all. I’ll forever be in yer debt.”

“I’m glad I’ve been able to help.” I said slowly, watching as he covered his legs with a soft blanket. “And yet I remain concerned – you seem unwell these days, Mister Mackenzie.”

“What afflicts me…” He avoided my gaze, his grey eyes focusing on the window, where stars twinkled in white and blue, peeking into our mortal lives. “There isna a brew or drug that would be able to soothe me. I’m old and sick – I feel my days are slowly coming to an end. I fear I won’t live long enough to see all things righted – and the suffering my family must endure to see it so.”

“Maybe,” I offered hesitantly, trying not to let my interest show. Did he fear he wouldn’t be able to see an independent Scotland in his lifetime? “These things aren’t meant to be righted in the first place.”

“They do. They absolutely do.” He almost smiled – so incredibly sad my heart ached a little. “It is my burden to carry, for as long as I’m able. Oh, dinna look at me like that, Doctor Randall. I have been given more than most men, wealth and success others may only dream of. ‘Tis only right I pay some price, now that my life dwindles. However, yer presence and skills have brought me an alleviation I had lost all hope of ever knowing again.” He opened a book and settled himself on the armchair, undoubtedly to spend a couple of hours seeking refuge in his favourite author. “Now go on and seek yer rest for the day – I shall bid ye goodnight, Claire.”

“Goodnight, Mister Mackenzie.” I closed the door behind me, leaving him to his thoughts, as troubled as mine.

Back at my room, the door securely locked, I put on a pair of latex gloves from my kit and started to work. Although not exactly a complex process, it required a clear mind and dextrous hand. Learning how to extract fingerprints had been one of the last things I had learned during my short training.

I took the teacup and carefully dusted it with powdered graphite, which I acquired from grinding a pencil with my mortar, applying it into the porcelain like makeup on my pale skin. Afterwards, I took a photograph with my high quality camera ( _Claire Randall, of course, liked to take the best photographs during her exotic vacations_ ) and uploaded it into my laptop, opening it with a photo editing software. I quickly inverted the image and reversed the colouring, so that Colum’s fingerprint appeared in white and the background in back. After retrieving the appropriate materials from a secure pocket inside my medical bag, I printed the fingerprint onto tracing paper – smiling as it appeared perfectly visible and slightly raised – and smeared it with a mixture of wood glue with a dash of glycerine soap. It was only a matter of waiting for the glue to dry, peel it off and  _voilà_! – the lines of Colum’s index finger were mine to use as I wished.  _Claire Beauchamp, accomplished spy._

Next morning, I was chirping with Geillis, trying to pay attention to her lively gossiping, when Jamie appeared around the corner. He smiled at me – using the fact that Geillis had her back turned on him, so I could look at him while pretending I was still staring intently at her – and a golden key erupted from his pocket, held by the same fingers he had plunged into my body just hours before.

“I’m going out to get some lunch. Can I bring you a sandwich?” I asked Geillis, grabbing my burgundy handbag, and casually strolling towards the elevator.

“Yes, please!” She applauded, pulling her red hair away from her face. “Smoked salmon and watercress on rye bread. Ye are a darling!”

I laughed and waved at her, entering the elevator, my breath coming quickly. The doors were almost closing when Jamie came rushing in, as someone late for an important appointment. We traded half-whispered greetings, as polite yet distant acquaintances, until the doors were entirely sealed.

His fingertips lightly brushed the back of my hand, tickling my skin, making me pant in arousal and excitement. Jamie determinedly placed the key in the slot and pressed the elevator’s button.

The 11th floor awaited us.


	22. 4.8

**_4.8_ **

The 11th floor was spacious and dormant, like an ancient ship trapped in a dock, parted from its lover in the waves. Several offices occupied most of the space, exhibiting desks empty of personal photographs and coloured post-its. Jamie and I walked prudently, even knowing we were alone – the silence felt like a living thing, breathing down our necks, urging us to proceed with carefulness. Away from prying eyes, I enjoyed the chance of holding his hand again, his thumb lightly tracing the back of my hand as we searched for the main computer terminal.

As we approached the room where it was stored, full of wires and metallic cabinets, I kept peeking above my shoulder, fearful that someone would jump on us from an unseen corner.

Jamie promptly located the terminal’s keyboard, letting go of my hand with a small remorseful sound deep inside his throat, in order to initiate the device. Soon enough a message was flickering on the screen, advising in blue  _“Insert security fingerprint_ ”. He looked at me, a lopsided grin on his mouth, his eyes shining in dare –  _“show me what you got, lass”_ ,they told me. It wasn’t exactly my most modest moment, when I triumphantly applied Colum’s duplicate fingerprint on my own finger and pressed it against the touchscreen, my heart thumping in expectancy. We both gasped as the screen unlocked, a treasure lair at last accessible to our greedy eyes.

“So, what exactly are we searching for?” I murmured, as Jamie began typing, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “A folder entitled  _“My-terrorist-plans.doc_ ”?”

He snorted, his blue eyes reflecting the light of the screen. “I dinna ken precisely, Sassenach. I guess we’ll know it once we’ve seen it.”

For the next minutes, we scoured the contents of the terminal, alternating so quickly between folders and files that I feared I would become nauseous. Invites for galas, invoices, plans for future acquisitions, a few dirty secrets about a choice of competitors (one ruthless businesswoman, owner of a huge brand, apparently had a penchant for dwarfs in the _boudoir_ ), plans for an expansion of the building, strategies to enhance sales in China and Japan. But although not all of it was entirely ethical, and some borderline illegal, nothing seemed to belong to an active terrorist covenant.

Jamie grumbled a little in impatience – I could feel his urgency, a bead of sweat making a trail on his temple. We needed to leave shortly or risk discovery – soon enough people would be wondering where I’d went to get those  _damned_ sandwiches.

“There!” I said, my eyes almost watering from gazing at the screen, as Jamie furiously opened files. “That folder called  _Saltire._  Can you open it?”

The folder was encrypted, which was mildly suspicious on itself, as the majority of the information was archived without further defences – with a couple of fast high jacking tricks, Jamie was able to access its entire content.

“What are those?” I asked, squinting to try to discern the drawings that immediately appeared.

“Blueprints.” Jamie whispered, his voice flailing a bit. “Why store blueprints – meant only for  _security_ , ye ken - of a building in a folder with such an ominous name… unless we’re looking at the next planed target? See how some places are signalled with a little cross?” He pointed to a couple of blue signs. “I’m guessing those are the main pillars of the structure – the best places to place a bomb and cause the most damage.”

“Which building is it?” I pressed, my eyes desperately searching for some identifiable trait. Those lines could belong to a hundred different buildings in Scotland. “ _Bloody hell_!”

“I think I know.” He raised his eyes to my face and I saw how pale and clammy his skin was – the sheer horror in his eyes. “Just the size of it - I spent too much time inside its walls when I was growing up not to recognize it. Claire –  _Christ_  - I think it’s the Scottish National Gallery.”

“Jamie,” I almost couldn’t hear my own voice above the drumming of my heart. “Today is the inauguration of the temporary exposition about  _Culloden and the ’45_. Hundreds of people are expected there,” I quickly glanced at my wristwatch, my stomach revolving. “In less than an hour.  _Do you honestly think_ …?”

“Aye.” Jamie gulped, his big hand folding around my own – he squeezed my fingers enough to almost make me cry, but I was overwhelmingly reassured by his presence. “Canna be a coincidence, I don’t think. We need to go.  _Now_.”

Almost dragged by Jamie, as I didn’t really feel my legs, we run together towards the elevator.

“Ye need to alert the MI5 – use the phone we gave ye. Text them to send as many police cars and agents as they can. We might be able to scare them enough to stop the attack from happening altogether.” He commanded, seeming utterly collected, while I was about to throw myself on the floor and weep. Jamie was a leader, raising to the occasion with a clear and quick mind. “I’ll take my motorcycle there – I need to warn everyone to get out while there is still time.”

“It’s too dangerous, Jamie.” I breathed, as we approached the elevator. “ _Please_.”

“I must, Claire.” He grabbed my arms and stopped me for a moment, his lips meeting mine in a deep kiss, which ended much sooner than I wished. “Dinna fash, Sassenach – I’m coming back to ye. I always will.”

I almost lost myself in his eyes – how I longed to have time just to stare at them – when a sudden  _“Plim!”_  in the elevator made us jump like a jack-in-the-box. We turned our heads in its direction in tandem, our eyes wide, to discover that the mechanism leading to the 11th floor had been activated.

“ _Shit_!” I cursed between teeth. “Someone is coming!”

“Come along, Sassenach.” Jamie incited me, taking my hand. “Must be the guard doing his rounds. We’ll take the emergency stairs - since we have the key that will work too.”

We trotted down the stairs like two hounds in hot pursuit, while I frantically bottled up the fear I would fall down and break a leg, which would – well -  _complicate things_. I had emerged like a dart from the door, wheezing like a mad banshee – Jamie slightly behind me, as he had stopped a couple of times, to make sure the guard hadn’t caught sight of us escaping through the stairwell – when Angus made a turner on the corridor, spotting me.

I mechanically leaned against the door, sealing it shut to stop Jamie from appearing right behind me – both of us undoubtedly looking like someone who had been participating in recreational activities in the privacy of the emergency exit. Unfortunately, we hadn’t. I thought I heard the faint whisper of Jamie’s  _“Ifrinn!”._  I knew what  _that one_  meant well enough.

“Doctor Randall!” Angus greeted me pleasantly, his eyes nonetheless taking in my discomposure. “Is something amiss? Ye look like ye’ve seen a fetch – or turn into one yerself, if I may say so.”

“I’m not feeling quite like myself.” I confessed in a faint voice. “Might be coming down with the flu.”

“Ach!” He lamented in a sympathetic tone, raising a brow. “Do ye need me to escort ye to yer office, then?”

“It would be most chivalrous of ye, dear Angus.” I promptly grabbed his elbow like a pliable invalid. “I think a lay down is in order right at this moment.”

But as we started to walk away, Jamie must have moved – I heard a rustle behind us, like someone pacing irritated, and was fairly certain Angus noticed it too. Fearing he would be feeling gallant enough to investigate the disturbance himself, uncovering Jamie hiding in the landing just beyond the door, I chose that moment to dramatically faint.


	23. 4.9

******_4.9_ **

Angus deposited me in my office’s plush leather couch, as I conveniently recovered my conscience in time to stop him from calling someone to aid, assuring him that I only needed some rest and cold compresses.

I allowed him to fluster a little around me before I shooed him away, with firm words of reassurance. The poor man gave me one last concerned look – my body splayed in a saggy way, my eyes covered with a damp towel, a damsel in distress if I ever saw one – before he left me, insisting that he would ask Geillis to check on me presently.

As soon as the door closed behind him, I silently counted to twenty to make sure he was truly gone, before I jumped from my impromptu convalescence. I grabbed my handbag – fortunately I had been holding it tightly during my little spectacle – and without hesitation opened a pocket, where my hidden burner phone slept bellow an innocent cover of tampons, pads and an assortment of chapsticks, material deemed too dangerous to any prying man to touch.

After quickly inserting the pin code, I was able to type a short message to send to my only available contact on the list, which I hoped was explicit enough –  _“Move all knights on the Scottish National Gallery. The king rides towards the crown”_.

My only assigned task accomplished with success, I was to keep the façade of normalcy and eat myself alive with concern. Thoughts of Jamie recklessly riding his motorbike across the streets of Edinburgh, coming ever closer to mortal danger, filled my every breath. It was unbearable – I couldn’t wait, helpless, sitting atop a bomb with low prospects of being dismantled. I had to go and see for myself.

I tiptoed across  _Leoch_ ’s hallways, fortunately almost deserted, since most of the employers and the high offices – including Colum - were expected in a conference about branding. I carefully tried to avoid Geillis’ work station, but when I peeked at it before entering the elevator, discovered it to be empty. Propelled by Angus, perhaps she was looking for me, worried I had collapsed in some corner – that served my purpose entirely.

I hailed a taxi and with a dry mouth - my tongue betraying my nerves and sense of dishonesty for disobeying implicit orders - told the driver to take me to  _The Mound_ , just across the street from the museum. The traffic was angry and tumultuous, a torrent of cars, bicycles and motorcycles heading towards the call of destiny, barely audible amongst the horns and insults some pedestrians threw at defaulted drivers. I answered the pleasantries the taxi driver – a homely man, his curly ginger hair a constant reminder of the pressure of time - directed me with no more than monosyllables and vacant nods of the head, my mind travelling more swiftly than my body.

At some point, realizing we were close enough for me to run there faster than we could drive, I paid the man – making sure I was generous on the tip to atone for my semi-rudeness. I ran, ran,  _ran_ , ignoring the sharp pain building just underneath my ribcage, applying pressure with my hand as I breathlessly struggled to maintain the constant rhythm.

As I galloped through Market Street, the Assembly Hall coming into sight, I noticed how the crowd seemed to be coming towards me – _away_  from the Gardens and the Gallery. Some people were almost running, while others walked with a lighter step, straining their necks in an attempt to look above the heads surrounding them, curiosity winning over whatever made them flee the heart of Edinburgh.

Getting through the human wall as becoming increasingly difficult - a stampede of visitors, children in fieldtrips, artists seeking inspiration, noteworthy names in the historical, artistical and political scenes -  my body bumping and colliding with elbows, legs, feet and shoulders. I was certain I’d be covered in bruises that night – prayed those would be my biggest sorrows.

I saw Jamie almost immediately. His imposing height placed him inches above the surrounding people, his red hair like a flag signalling danger, while he shepherded people away from the building. I observed as he talked with calm but authority to an elderly couple questioning him – undoubtedly irritated that the afternoon entertainment was being cut shorter - his hand pointing to the museum and then towards the parallel street where safety could be found.

After the old man accepted Jamie’s words and proceeded to guide his hesitant wife – donning a hat to be the envy of every female in Ascot – somewhere far,  _far away_ , Jamie headed towards a mother with a young boy, that for some unforeseeable reason was still lingering too close to the Gallery.

When time breaks, its sharp edges go on cutting you throughout life, bleeding you out long after the wound has seemingly closed, and the scar has started to form. You find you can’t hold the glass of what happened inside your palm and be unscathed – it will always wound you, deeply, the knowledge of those shattered times. For a clear moment you saw the life as it could have been, the one you didn’t get to live, and the mourning of it may accompany you forever.

The cold breeze. People talking all around me, voices fearful and worried. Sirens, so many sirens, getting closer and closer. A kite lost amidst the crowd, somewhere a child crying for its loss. The young boy near Jamie, his chestnut hair slightly mussed up and sticky from cotton-candy fingers. A woman, her hair entirely hidden by a blue beanie, hurriedly walking away from the museum. The hope of rain in the air, when fire exploded all around us, the sound so loud it robbed every other noise and plunged our eardrums in terrible silence. Jamie running towards the boy, trying to shield him. My eyes suddenly fixing the sky above me, not knowing how the earth had shifted so.

Jamie

_Jamie._


	24. 5.0

**_5.0_ **

I don’t know when I started hearing again, because by then – when the world awoke, buzzing and screaming – I felt like I was floating somewhere far above my own body.

I saw the destruction around me with cold distancing, barely blinking when confronted with the sight of scattered bodies and a half-crumbled  _Scottish National Gallery_. Around me people –  _survivors_ , they would be called by the media, regardless of every little death experienced inside - were starting to wander, shock caught in their throats and eyes.

One moment I was noticing how a trickle of blood made its way across my arm, a deep scratch across my elbow; the next I was staring at a forgotten backpack with a  _Spiderman_ stamped on it – it belonged to a boy named Ian, identified by an embroidered tag made by loving hands; I must have walked, because my next memory is of kneeling next to Jamie, my howl the first sound I made after the blast.

His eyes were wide open and, for the most terrorizing seconds of my life – spanning to years inside my grieving heart – I thought he was dead. But dead Jamie Fraser was not – even if the blood of his life was slowly falling away, having found an escape route through the shattered fingers of his hand and a nauseating slash across his thigh.

“Ye’re so beautiful,  _mo nighean donn_.” He whispered, staring dreamily at my concerned face. I was fairly sure he presumed he was dead too.

“Tell me that in an occasion when you’re not going into hypovolemic shock.” I said in a conversational tone, trying to appear much calmer than I actually felt. I untied his belt and started working on making a tourniquet for his leg. Even if the blood appeared to be venous – no splatter, which was  _good_ , rather more of a constant flow – a vessel of big calibre had been badly affected and he was in serious dangerous of bleeding out. Not much to do for his hand at the moment, without compresses, sterile saline and antibiotics available. “It would be much more believable.”

His eyes became steadier, as if he was refocusing them to actually see the land of the living. He slightly turned his head and glanced at the destruction around us – I almost heard his strangled cry. Paramedics were starting to appear, as well as firefighters and agents from the crisis intervention team. I was trying very hard to block the wails and desperate cries for help from broken people all around me, concentrating in saving the life that mattered the most to me.

“How many…?” Jamie asked me in a sob.

“I don’t know.” I replied darkly, my fingers searching for the quick pulse on his carotid artery. “ _Many_. I am so sorry, Jamie.”

He went silent and although I didn’t try to force him to speak to me again, wishing for him to spare his strength, I knew how deep his guilt ran. How, undoubtedly, he was punishing himself for the utter atrocity – forgetful of hundreds, maybe thousands, of others, saved only by his actions.

I tried to count slowly inside my head, while waiting for help to come to us. I had learned of triage in catastrophe sceneries as a trauma surgeon, and my rational mind tried to summon that distant knowledge, ignoring the heart that yelled for urgency.

Jamie’s breathing was getting shallower and more laboured, and his pulse was very fast, yet fleeting, losing that soft rhythm that is the metronome of a healthy heart.

“You’re trying to die on me, aren’t you?” I accused him, my fingers frantically adjusting the tourniquet on his leg. I had done everything I could – the only thing left to offer him was myself, whatever power my presence could have to keep him alive. “I won’t let you,  _you bastard_! You hear me, James Fraser? I won’t!” I bent over to talk to him closely, his eyes now closed. His skin was hauntingly white, his red hair stark against his paleness. “I used to call you a bastard during training. I didn’t mean it, then. I was just angry and afraid – as I am  _now_.” I kissed his cheek and cradled him against me, whispering softly. “You are the only thing left that makes sense to me anymore, Jamie. And if you go, I’d rather go with you, now.”

“Claire!” I heard someone, somewhere, calling me. A small voice inside my head – very distant – alerted me that it wasn’t very wise that I was nursing Jamie, surrounded by a hectic crowd and incoming reporters. Our cover, our entire mission, could be over in one second – if we  _both_ survived this day. “Let Jamie go, Claire. They will take care of him, ye can let go.” As my reaction was only to grasp him harder against me, hands grabbed me by my armpits and pulled me bodily away from me. I trashed and fought, like a cat thrown underwater. “Stop it, Claire! It’s me, Willie!”

“Willie.” I murmured numbly, only then recognizing one of my instructors in the safehouse.  _A friend_. He was wearing all black with a dark Kevlar vest.

“Aye.” The agent said gently, brushing my riotous hair away from my face, as he held me in his arms, while paramedics started assisting Jamie. “I’ll go with Jamie to the hospital, Claire. Ye need to go, before anyone sees ye here.”

“ _The hell_  I’m going!” I growled stubbornly. “I won’t leave him!”

“Claire.” Willie admonished me in a low voice. “Jamie risked everything to try to stop this from happening. Yer work –  _and his_  – are not over yet. Now it’s not the time to lose yer focus. We will text ye on the safe phone as soon as he is stable.”

“I can’t – I -” I sobbed, fevered energy and indignation quickly giving space to heartbrokenness and utter devastation. “What if he  _dies_?”

The team assisting him had managed to place Jamie on a trauma stretcher – fluids and drugs already being delivered to him from a couple of transparent bags, attached to a thick vein in his forearm by a sturdy needle. His leg had been enclosed with white sterile bandages and he was being covered with a thin foil blanket.

“ _Claire_.” He called me in a hoarse voice. I escaped Willie’s hands and rushed to his side, only to discover his blue eyes looking intently at me. Decided.  _Regretful_. “Dinna worry,  _mo nighean donn_. For yer sake, I will continue – though for mine alone…I would not.”


	25. 5.1

**_5.1_ **

Would the blood ever leave my hands?

I had scrubbed them until my skin was red and raw, my knuckles almost blistered; but I could still spot small traces of blood underneath my fingernails. A wave of nausea would hit me in those moments like a slap, brutal and sudden, and I’d put my head down, to try and fight the queasiness away.  _The memory of Jamie’s blood_.  _All the ghosts that now lived with me, softly whispering at my back._

I furrowed my brow, gazing at my fingers, and planned to give them another thorough scrub as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

“Claire, do you hear me?” Director Raymond pressed me. We were sitting at the hospital’s cafeteria, our backs turned, so it would seem to the innocent bystander that each one of us was immersed in a solitary cup of nasty coffee, filled with bitter coffee grounds. “Claire?”

“Yes.” I replied dryly. “I heard you the first twenty times – under no circumstance am I supposed to go even in the same hallway as Jamie’s room. Unless expressly requested by Colum, I’m not to see him.” I put down my cup with a little thumping sound, feeling less than charitable at the moment. “I have to be a  _good soldier_  and pretend nothing  _relevant_ happened.”

“Yes, you have.” He started cleaning his filthy eyeglasses with the corner of his flannel shirt. Raymond seemed extraordinarily tired,  _defeated_ – decades piled into his features within a single day. “I’m already living a bloody nightmare, trying to cover for Jamie’s presence there. I had to collect every favour owed to me by a reporter, to try and maintain the identity of  _The Garden’s Hero_ a mystery.” The MI5 director sighed and clicked his tongue at the foul taste of the dark brew. “No one can know Jamie’s real role there.”

“No one will look twice in Jamie’s direction now.” I slowly pushed the newspaper to Raymond’s table - the reporters soon would be short on synonyms to the word  _“terror”._  “ _They_  finally made their move. One hundred and forty-seven souls gone – more than two hundred injured. Not bad for a day’s work.”

Every station and newsroom had received a flyer two days after the attack. An unknown group (at least to the general public) had claimed the attack – they called themselves  _The Clan_. Their motif was clear enough and worded in a concise sentence:  _“Independent Scotland now – or we shall free all Scots with fire.”_

“Catchy phrase, don’t you think?” I said mordantly. I didn’t really need to see his face to know that Raymond looked utterly aghast. “What are we going to do? Don’t you have enough evidence to make an arrest? The blueprints were there in  _Leoch_ ’s main server, after all.”

“Yes, they were there. But no trace of whomever placed them there.” The man impatiently tapped his finger, looking around to make sure no one had noticed our half-whispered conversation. “What do you make of Dougal MacKenzie, Claire?”

“He appears to be a breast man.” I snorted, remembering the way his eyes gawked at me, as we met in the hospital’s waiting room. I had been with Colum, expecting news on Jamie’s condition, when he had arrived from his extended business trip, looking less more than vibrant. “Colum looks on edge since he arrived. But, perhaps, he is only worried for Jamie.”

“Hm.” Raymond hummed noncommittally. “I want you to keep an eye on him. The charity gala is quickly approaching. All of  _Leoch_ ’s allies - and enemies - should be there. It will be your task to witness any important exchange which takes place there.”

“ _Delightful_.” I reciprocated, darkly. “So far we have always been two steps behind them, Director. I can’t help but to feel they know a lot more about us, than _us_  about  _them_.”

“Are you suggesting we have a mole in our ranks?” He asked gravely.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “If we do, both Jamie and I are dead. So, we better hurry and get you that evidence you need.” And without further interactions I raised from my seat and walked away, to wait for Colum to lead us home – another day I had failed to see Jamie.

Jamie had gone through surgery on his leg and hand and, according to every report, was making an impressive recovery. I hadn’t seen him since the moment I had kissed his cheek before he entered the ambulance, chaperoned by Willie. That dreadful afternoon, I succeeded in getting to Colum’s mansion unnoticed and locking myself inside my room, where I undressed my bloody clothes and cried myself to numbness. I hadn’t really left that state ever since, going through the days with a shred of consciousness.

Fortunately, Colum attributed my paleness and tremor to the daunting coverage we witnessed in the television; while in truth I had been waiting for the moment he would be alerted that his nephew had been gravely injured in the blast. It was with distant surprise that I realized how devastated he truly had been; how he had pressed the driver to race us to the hospital, where he barked orders and threats until a nurse came to give us a comforting update.

I was already in my room when the phone buzzed – having delivered Colum’s round of night-time treatments with uncharacteristic speed and detachment, as I didn’t have much heart left for gentleness. It was not my  _official_  phone ringing, but the burner phone – I didn’t recognize the number blinking in the screen.

“This is Claire.” I whispered to the phone – I didn’t go with either  _Randall_  or  _Beauchamp_ , because at that point I really didn’t know which one was more  _me_.

“Sassenach.” I almost dropped the device as I heard Jamie’s voice. His tone was hoarse and weaker than usual, but  _utterly alive_. “Raymond came to see me once Colum left. I blackmailed him into using his phone to call ye.”

“Oh, Jamie!” I sobbed, covering my eyes with my hand, relief washing over me in a storm. “I’m  _so glad_  to hear you.”

“Aye.” He groaned a bit and I could vividly imagine him, moving in that impersonal hospital bed, restless. “Were ye worried for me then?”

“Barely noticed you were away.” I laughed between tears, my chin trembling. “Are you in pain?”

“Every day I canna see ye, I’m in pain,  _mo nighean donn_.” Jamie said slowly, his voice tender. “But I recall the day I first saw ye, walking another hospital’s ward, and I seem to forget all about any discomfort.”

“I was so afraid for you. You  _reckless_ , _stubborn_ , _impossible, Scot_.” I replied softly, curling in bed, the phone tightly pressed against my cheek. The tiredness of sleepless nights, fear and grief, seemed to be catching up to me – I felt almost boneless, a scattered puzzle someone had left unfinished, unsolved.

“I love ye too.” He whispered, a secret just for my ear. “Ye sound tired,  _Sassenach_. Lay yer head, lass. And tell me all yer heart, if there’s time.”


	26. 5.2

**_5.2_ **

The Portrait Gallery came alive with the array of colours from women’s dresses, interspersed between men’s tuxedos as northern lights in the dead of night. Reality TV celebrities gossiping in a corner, sports legends laughing over champagne flutes, socialites taking selfies to publish on  _Instagram_ , diplomats displaying a front of seriousness, politicians immersed in barely disguised early campaigning, music stars – their latest songs hot on the charts – high as kites, businessmen looking slightly judgmental, yet undoubtedly proud to have afforded the right to be among such notorious people.

I was incredibly self-aware of my gown, a red dress of flowing chiffon, which billowed around me with my every movement – the tantalizing white velvet of my legs becoming visible in teasing flashes, with just enough cleavage to complete my disguise for the night. Once, Director Raymond had told me  _“beauty can be a weapon as deadly as a grenade, when wielded by a dextrous hand”_  – and I intended to use every ammunition available on my arsenal, as uncomfortable as it made me.

“Ye look beautiful, Claire.” Geillis told me. She looked pretty spectacular herself, with an emerald green dress made of silk, that softly hugged the curves of her body and made her eyes shine dangerously, a purring cat not entirely tamed. “Wee Jamie Fraser looks quite dashing tonight, even with that cane, does he not?”

“Yes, very handsome.” I tried to sound distracted and uninterested, sipping from my glass, but watched him through the corners of my eyes, nonetheless. Even having lost some weight during his time at the hospital, he filled the room with his presence – I knew he was still doing physical therapy on his leg and he was wearing an elegant black cane for support, which made him look strangely charming. I craved to touch him, to feel his naked skin beneath my hands again, so much so my fingertips tingled. “I think I’ll go mingle a bit. I’ll meet you later, Geillis.”

I wandered through the hall, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful architecture and the magnificent ceiling, nodding and waving at my few acquaintances, composed mainly of  _Leoch_ ’s employees. It didn’t take me long to locate my intended target for the night - Dougal Mackenzie. He was accompanied by two stern-looking men and, as I approached them, I realized they were speaking in quick  _Gaidhlig._

Claire Randall, the woman in the sanguine dress, had no notion of the ancient scottish language - but Claire Beauchamp, _the spy_ , had been trained in the basics by James Fraser, in a secluded house somewhere in Scotland’s Highlands. I strived to present my most innocent look, while I desperately eavesdropped.

_“They won’t budge.”_ Said one of the strangers, his brows furrowed in concern. _“Maybe it’s too much, too fast.”_

_“We’ll make them yield.”_  Dougal chided, noticing me - offering me a predatory smile.  _“It’s on march - one week and they’ll ken for sure how serious we are.”_ And then he turned his full attention to me, his eyes travelling across my body with abhorrent liberty. “Doctor Randall, ye look positively ravishing tonight.”

“I was wondering - do you want to dance, Mister Mackenzie?” I moved my head in a coquettish gesture, that I had learned from watching old movies and series on my days off from the hospital, back when I had a simpler life. “You look like a man that knows how to  _lead_.” I gave him what I hoped was a suggestive smile, looking at him under my eyelashes. His nostrils flared, like an aroused stallion, and he took my hand and guided me to the centre of the room.

“So,  _Claire,_ ” Dougal’s attempt at familiarity didn’t go unnoticed. “What do ye make of the gala? I believe it’s yer first since ye are at my brother’s service, aye?” His right hand was fastly approaching dangerous territory on my lower back.

“Ah, yes.” I smiled sweetly at him. “I have to say, it’s quite a turnout. But then again, such a  _wonderful_  cause  _Leoch Enterprises_  is supporting tonight. All funds going to the relatives of the ones deceased in the bombing - the Mackenzie family really is a generous one.” I looked away from him, pretending I was hiding away tears forming in my eyes, when in fact I was just trying to maintain my deception - getting harder by the minute, with the sickening way his hands roamed on my back and waist.

“Terrible days we are living, lass.” He nodded, but his eyes glinted with -  _pride_?  _accomplishment_? “And yet, sometimes a wound has to fester before we can cut it clean. As a physician, ye should ken that well enough.” The tips of his left fingers brushed the side of my right breast - it required all my willpower to stop myself from slapping his hand, offering him a knowing look instead.

“Do you support Scotland’s independence, Mister Mackenzie?” I bit my lip seductively - an enchantress hypnotizing a snake to do her bidding. I urged myself to ignore the looks Jamie was giving me from the corner of the room. Dougal’s eyes followed the appearance of my tongue and I felt the unmistakable heat of his titillation against my stomach.

“I’d see a free Scotland born in my lifetime.” He admitted, his mouth coming closer to my ear to whisper. “Frequently, we have to take things we want verra badly by force.”

Before I could say anything more - had he but admitted to, at least, sympathizing with  _The Clan_? - the song ended and he reluctantly let me go.

“I have some urgent business to discuss presently, Doctor Randall.” Dougal kissed the back of my hand, lingering there longer than what  _etiquette_  dictated. “I look forward to seeing ye again later tonight.”

Afterwards, I walked to a nearby table and gulped a glass of cold sparkling water. I wondered if the restroom had some disinfectant and if it would be too absurd to bathe in it, in order to get rid of any traces of Dougal’s touch. Feeling almost asphyxiated and somehow cornered, I walked the majestic hallways towards the stairwell, and followed it until I found myself on the rooftop of the building.

There, keeping the stars company, was the figure of a man, gazing over the dozing city of Edinburgh - and even before I fully recognized him, I knew I loved him.

“Jamie.” I called him softly, careful not to startle him.

“Hello, Sassenach.” He greeted me, his words almost taken away by the cold night’s breeze. I padded to him and, before I could even measure the risk, I hugged him fiercely. The solidness of him was reassuring, as was the way his lips brushed my forehead - but his body lacked the abandon we usually summoned in each other, the complete surrender we yearned to give.

“You’re angry.” I realized, watching the hardness in his jaw and the fine line of his contorted lips – sealed to repel an outburst of his temper.

“Aye.” He breathed deeply through his nose, his voice barely a rasp. “I am that.”

“Why?” I asked, pulling myself away from him, even if I could predict the answer well enough.

“I ken I don’t have the right.” Jamie turned his back and his big hands gripped the rail behind us. His cane laid on the ground, forgotten like a spare limb. “For I know what ye are trying to accomplish. But -  _God, Claire_ \- it makes me sick seeing ye with another man. I could kill ye _both_.”

“Well -  _yes_  - you have  _no bloody_  right!” I hugged myself against the cold, unleashing my resentfulness. “After I had to watch you snogging Laoghaire in every damn corner for days!”

“And so ye are justified in brushing yerself all over my uncle?” He seethed, turning to face me again. Even in the absence of light, I could glimpse the revealing crimson on his neck, the anger boiling close to the surface.

“Your uncle didn’t _exactly_  ask for my permission!” I roared, impatiently brushing away a lock of my hair. “Jamie, I’m just doing  _my job_. I  _have to_  - if we’re to have any hope in actually living our own life someday.”

“I fear those days will never come to be.” He said darkly, his voice almost breaking. “And if we get there - what will be left of my own soul for ye to have, then? What would be left of  _us_? How much more can they take away from us?”

“I don’t know.” I admitted, anger quickly giving way to sorrow. “But you can’t turn on me. Not now - not after everything. We must stay together.”

“I feared I would forget the sound of yer voice.” He said hoarsely, his fingers meeting mine. His cheek scraped against mine with heartbreaking tenderness. “The exact colour of yer eyes - honey, whisky, cinnamon and cherry wine. And tonight, I couldn’t even touch ye - looking like  _that_ , a goddess in red, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“I love you.” I kissed the corner of his mouth, inhaling the scent of him, warm even in the coming dew. “I’ve never loved anyone but you, James Fraser. And you can touch me  _now_ , that we are alone here.”

“Is that what you want?” Jamie asked, placing a trail of kisses on my temple, his hands slightly rough on my shoulders. “Tell me, Claire.  _What_  do you want?”

“I want -  _you_. I want you.” I sighed in content and relief, as his small scruff scratched the sensitive skin on the top of my breasts. “I want -” I rasped breathlessly, his teeth nipping on the delicate flesh just below my ear, where the river of my blood thrummed. Jamie paused - his eyes fevered with desire - gripping my waist in a way that could not be mistaken with anything else, but a desperate cry of  _“Mine!”_.

“What  _else_  do ye  _want_ , Sassenach?” He teased dangerously, hinting that he might just do the opposite of my desires. Not to punish me, as the fault laid far beyond our own actions - but to bring forward the dark creature in me, who would rise to the challenge and respond with equal intensity.

“I want your mouth  _on me._ ” I whispered, my hands pressing the hard slopes of his buttocks, hidden by the fabric of his trousers. Jamie kissed my lips one final time, languidly and thoroughly, making sure I would miss him properly. He slowly kneeled before me - at cost, I avoided to reprehend him for the possibility of inflicting more damage to his leg, understanding the powerful need that commanded him, far beyond the shackles of physical pain.

“Let go, Claire.” He instructed, his hands holding me against the warmth of his lips. I felt the whisper of his breath against my yearning skin, a caress arousing enough to make me careen. “I’ll hold ye. I’ll hold ye for always,  _mo ghraidh_.”

I was pressed between him and the rail, my back seemingly against the wall of darkness - lost to the emptiness of the street below, to the man that made my body sing with an unchained melody. I thought I would dissolve and turn into night itself - I would have taken it gladly, had I been able to spend every second between sundown and sunrise in Jamie’s embrace.

“Ah, ye truly want me.” Jamie smiled against me, his voice breathless, and I shamelessly whimpered from the sudden absence of his efforts. “Yer body canna lie to me, not ever,  _mo nighean donn_. I shall forever kiss the truth from ye.”

“ _Oh, Jamie_.” My hands were on his hair, a blessing to the pilgrim kneeled before me in adoration, alternating between soft caresses on the hair at his nape and rough pulls when he teased me with his teeth.

Eventually he dexterously guided me through the waves of pleasure into the eye of the storm, and I arrived there seemingly having two hearts - one inside my chest and one beneath his lips -, pulsing together, broken by the truth of the desire he had ripped from me, both throbbing  _for him._

When time regained its pace, Jamie was composing my dress and holding me in his arms against his chest - his own heart whispering its rhythmic truth. I would have fallen to the floor had he let me go, my body feeling boneless.

“I’m really sorry to interrupt.” A male voice said from the entrance to the rooftop. Jamie tensed and automatically pushed me behind his back in order to shield me. “But I have work to do.”

A man walked in our direction, his arm outstretched, the menace of a gun pointed at us prominent in his hand. I gasped, a terrible cold filling me the moment his features became discernible.

_It was Willie._


	27. 5.3

**_5.3_ **

“ _What_ are you doing?” I asked vehemently and entirely pointlessly, since what Willie was doing was fairly clear for anyone to see at that point.

“You weren’t supposed to be here, Claire.” Willie said darkly, and the set of his jaw betrayed some anxiety, but his eyes didn’t move away from Jamie - he was the real danger between us two. “It was to be Jamie alone.”

“I can’t believe you would do -” I started to protest, but Jamie interrupted me. He was still shielding me with his body, the scars on his hand rugged against the smooth skin of my arm.

“How long?” He grumbled. His tense shoulders were an impressionist painting of igniting anger, seemingly shimmering in the night, his barriers dissolving in a blur. “How long have you been the mole? How long have you been selling our secrets to those who wish to see Scotland bathed in blood?”

“You don’t know anything!” The man answered hotly, the hand securing the weapon slightly shaking. The sound of the gun cocking went through me like an empty but effective shot, a bullet made of ice that left me reeling. “Everything is always so straightforward to you, Jamie – the days I saw things in pure black and white are long gone for me.”

“This seems simple enough for me, aye!” Jamie hissed, his own body trembling with the effort not to jump ahead and disarm Willie – but a miscalculated movement could end in disaster for either of us. With the gun distancing barely three feet away from us, I didn’t nurture any notions that the double agent could possibly miss his shot. “Ye chose to become a terrorist, to help them kill your own countrymen, people ye swore to protect with yer own life if need be!” He struggled to lower his voice, as his training demanded – things could escalate much quicker if he lost control. “Have ye been dirty from the start? When we were recruits in the safehouse, and I held yer head while ye vomited with fear and bone-deep tiredness, were ye already planning to betray me?”

Willie winced, as if Jamie had just slapped him with the back of his hand, and his eyes widened.

“No.” He answered in a hoarse voice. “It started much later. I was surveilling Claire, while we waited for the appropriate moment to approach her, when they came to me. They knew things about me – my sister’s name, where she lived, the name of the school her bairns go to.” He licked his lips and I prayed that he kept talking – while he talked, we could all be safe. In that rooftop bathed in sheltering darkness, he had found a suitable moment to confess his sins – even if there was no chance to atone for them – and once he was done, I feared his conscience would be eased enough to carry on with his task. “They threatened me –  _them_. I had to give them information to stop any harm from coming to my family.” His voice urged us to understand, to absolve him. “I tried to give them as little as I could. I never told them about Claire, but ye – they already suspected ye, Jamie. So, I just confirmed their suspicions.”

“You fucking traitor!” I snarled, ignoring Jamie’s determined attempts to quiet me. “Why the hell did you spare me? Do you think a chivalrous notion would get you any sway with the MI5, when people realized what you had been doing?”

“He fancies ye, Claire.” Jamie said slowly, his hand unbearably gentle on my arm. “He has liked ye since the moment he started training ye. I noticed how his eyes lingered on ye – how he couldn’t help himself. That’s why he never told anyone about ye – he wanted you for himself.”

Willie gave Jamie a resentful look, but the soft crimson on his cheeks told me just how right Jamie was.

“It seems I wasna the only one with a soft spot for the Sassenach.” He said between teeth and his grip on the weapon seemed to intensify. “I knew it since ye were wounded in the attack and suspected it even before that day – but now, I’ve found ye with yer face between her legs. Director Raymond would be less than impressed with his star agent, would he not?”

“I’d say you aren’t exactly in a position to reprehend Jamie on his work ethics.” I seethed. “You can still put that gun on the ground and walk away, Willie. You aren’t too far gone – I’m sure people will understand why you did what you did.” I tried to convince him, even if I wasn’t feeling that charitable myself.

“No.” He shook his head and his eyes shone with regret and pain. “Jamie is a liability and they want him gone – they hoped he wouldn’t make it after the attack, but he survived. I have to make it right.”

When I was little, my uncle Lamb had an old slide projector, which he used to teach some archaeology classes when he was invited –  _The magic lantern,_ he called it. I remember how I sat in his office, transfixed and filled with wonder, as he projected the photographs and little paintings on transparent plates – how those images, so still and isolated, could become almost a film when he changed the slide fast enough. And that is how I recall the moments that followed that night – a collection of images, chards of time captured by the painter in my mind, almost enough for me to move between them, but somehow fragmented.

Jamie, with an uncanny mixture of training and born instinct, predicted the moment Willie was about to fire and pounced. He had the advantage of height and ability, but his injuries were too recent, and soon enough they rolled on the ground, Willie above him with his hands curled around his neck.

Struggling against the pressure that threatened to choke him, Jamie punched Willie on the lower back – undoubtedly aiming for his kidney area, the softness just below the bony protection of the last floating rib – but the blows were weakened by the oxygen deprivation he was suffering.

Wailing like a Celt warrior, I lunged for the newly-discovered enemy, striking him on the neck with the side of my flattened hand. Unfortunately, he moved on the last second, so the blow was ineffective – instead I fell on top of him and scratched him for all I was worth. He squeaked and tried to grab my arms, releasing Jamie from his grip – he crawled away, retching, fighting like a fish out of water to get some air.

“Stop, Claire!” Willie shouted, trying to control me as I squirmed like an enraged eel. “Stop before ye hurt yerself!”

“ _You_  stop, before  _I_ hurt  _you_!” I tried to apply pressure on his eyes with the back of my thumbs –  _“always go for the fragile targets”_ , had been one of his first instructions during my fighting training. He roared with fury and I felt the fabric of my dress tearing, as he hammered me to the ground. I moaned with pain and felt Jamie’s presence nearby, his powerful hands locking around Willie’s ankle to prevent him from striking me any further.

“Run, Claire!” I heard his raspy voice, urging me to flee. But I couldn’t leave him; no more that I would be able to walk away from my own heart, leaving it to beat one final time on that rooftop. Besides, I was battle-fevered in earnest, completely surrendered to that frenzy where pain is an afterthought and the body sole focus is on preparing the next blow.

I blindly groped for my curly hair and found a slender hairpin – not an ideal weapon by any means, but fairly sharp on the edges. When Willie’s face approached mine again, I drove it into his nose with all my considerable might. He bellowed, closing his eyes in pain, his screams filling the quietness of the night – until Jamie successfully quieted him with a glorious punch.


	28. 5.4

**_5.4_ **

Jamie hit a couple of buttons on his phone and within minutes the rooftop was crawling with MI5 agents, appearing from the buildings in the vicinity like a stampede of black insects, curious to see the outcome of the battle in the jungle.

After a short exchange of words, light was shed upon the gravely scenario – Willie was a mole, a double agent working for  _The Clan_ , and he had almost been successful in trying to kill Jamie. Willie’s head was swiftly covered with a black hood and his hands tightly secured with hardened, yet flexible, plastic strips. Before we could blink again, he was being transported into the night and out of our sight. I thought I heard a helicopter at distance and, with a remarkably cold detachment for someone shaking so badly from shock, wondered what would happen to him after he had been severely questioned, and if he would live long enough to regret his actions and see his family safe.

“You’ve been compromised, Jamie.” Director Raymond sighed on the line, after he had been updated on the night’s events – Jamie had put his phone on speaker mode, so Raymond could promptly debrief the both of us simultaneously. “There’s no way around it anymore. You’ll be extracted tonight.”

“No!” Jamie snarled. The day had taken an unimaginable toll on him – my heart sank inside my chest just from thinking of it, the sense of deep betrayal he must be feeling, the pain on his recovering wounds from the physical exertion of fighting Willie, the frustration and desperation of knowing that his mission was ending in failure. The terror of leaving me,  _alone_. “I can still –“

“You’re  _done_ , Agent Fraser.” The older man said commandingly, his voice acquiring the formal tone of seniority, of hierarchy. “Your role in operation  _Broken Crown_  is finished. Staying where you are could only jeopardize the mission, endanger your life – and that of your partner, Claire.” He hesitated, almost dramatically – I could feel the subliminal clues he was offering us. “I  _won’t_ enquire any further as to why you and Agent Beauchamp were alone, away from the party you should be using to our benefit, in a bloody rooftop with no light.” My hand sought Jamie’s hand and I quickly brushed it with my fingers, offering him all the reassurance I could muster. “Because I sense that, if I would do that, I’d have enough reason to conduct an investigation on your  _professional_ behaviour. And I really  _don’t want that_.” He added tiredly. “Leave now, James. Claire must carry on.” The phone call ended before he gave us further opportunity to retort, the beeping sound resounding with striking finality.

“I won’t leave you.” Jamie whispered, as the agents around us finished composing everything – including my appearance – so that no mark was left of any disturbance. Entire seconds, minutes, dozens of words, hundreds of thoughts, millions of heartbeats, erased into inexistence, making us ghosts with lives only half-lived. “It’s too dangerous, Claire.”

“I don’t see that we have a choice.” I tried to smile, swallowing hard the sob that tried to escape my throat. “It’s my time to be the bloody hero. You’ll just have to learn how to live with that – for once, you’ll know how it feels to be the one waiting.”

“I’d wait my whole life for ye.” He said in a husky voice, his eyes intent and pained. “Just promise me I’ll see ye again in _this_  life, Sassenach. Waiting for you to be born again is more than I could bear.”

“I’ll see you  _soon_.” I assured him, my forehead leaning against his in complicity. “And you’ll take me to the hot springs and introduce me to your real friends. And we will spend an entire weekend in bed, making love whenever we feel like it – which probably will be  _all the time_. And we will be two people properly in love and everyone will be disgusted with how happy and sappy we are.”

Jamie’s response was to kiss my lips, languidly and thoroughly, blatantly ignoring the agents around us, alternating between looking away with a knowing smile and giving us looks of covert reproach.

“Finish this and come home to me, Claire.” Jamie said fervently, as the agents created a shield around him and guided him towards the night. “I love ye.”

Suddenly, with no more than a whisper of wind, I was alone – left to contemplate how I had been wounded with love from the moment I had seen him, when he had fenced his way into my heart, the tip of his foil destined to find the cracks in my shields, invisible to everyone but him.

“For your sake I will continue.” I whispered, touching my lips reverently in remembrance of his words, of his taste. My hand travelled slowly to my belly, where a question -  a susurration of hopeful things to come, an entire life for one  _Claire Beauchamp_  - had started to form, unbeknownst of my own fear. “Though for mine alone –  _I would not_.”


	29. 5.5

**_5.5_ **

The absence of some people isn’t just a void; when they go they rob us of something, so when they leave us, they take more than their presence. It isn’t a black hole they create, but a black mist – softly howling through us, clouding the sun of our days, until we realize their absence can be found everywhere within, spreading over the barriers of the place they once had been.

When Jamie left, the loss of him was not only mist, but rain – clamouring on the roof of my mind, lashing day and night, a storm to occupy my days. He was the final link to a time when I had been  _Claire Beauchamp_  and without him I struggled to maintain the façade of  _Claire Randall_.

I worked Dougal Mackenzie as best as I could, whenever the occasion arisen, offering as little as I could with the appearance of delivering a great deal more. But he was a clever and canny man and without further enticement – which I couldn’t stomach to even contemplate – the odds of getting something decisive from him dwindled with each passing day.

After another small explosion on a market, social media was frantic with cries for a new referendum and a protest organized through  _Facebook_  was expected to gather almost half a million people in Glasgow, demanding the government to proclaim an independent Scotland and stop the blood-bath. Televisions and newspapers were filled with articles and analysis, debating why the government couldn’t possibly comply and why the secret services seemed to be unable to deliver a suitable solution.

I revised every avenue of action, until a migraine threatened to install itself, while I prepared Colum’s medication for the night. It had become a ritual of sorts, whenever my mind was somewhat at ease – I’d look though every option, like quaintly-shaped shells and coloured pebbles, until I had found one which I felt might skip across the water, forming infinite perfect circles on the surface. But that night, like many before, all ideas seemed heavy on my hand, incapable of avoiding being drowned in the darkness of deep waters.

I wasn’t the only one deeply tormented – Colum’s spirits were dark those days. His health, which had flourished under my careful supervision for weeks, had taken a turn for the worse – a respiratory infection had settled on his lungs and his muscles were weaker than usual. But the thing that made him the sickest was worry – Jamie’s sudden departure, with just a hasty phone call as explanation and not even the courtesy of a personal goodbye, had broken his heart. I couldn’t reconcile his evident sadness and apprehension, with the order given to Willie to end Jamie’s life; so, I had concluded –  _hoped_ , really – that Colum wasn’t the one behind it.

“Claire.” He said quietly from his bed, as I gathered the supplies I had used to give him his antibiotics. “Will ye linger after ye’re done? I have a mind to speak to ye about something.”

“Of course.” I babbled, surprised. I neatly disposed of the needle on a small yellow container and took off my latex gloves.

“Tell me about yer husband.” Colum demanded after a while, when I was already thinking he must have fallen asleep, lulled by the cosiness of the heated room. My jaw almost dropped in surprise. “Were ye happy with him - Frank Randall, I believe was his name?”

“Yes.” I answered, struggling not to look away from his expectant glance.  _The expression on his face reminded me of Jamie’s, when he was deeply tormented._ “Very happy. We had been sweethearts since I was a teenager…” I launched myself on a monologue, featuring the very best of  _domestic Randalls’ life_ , as learned by the handbook that slept on my nightstand in the safehouse. I was amazed by how effortlessly I could still recall every detail and wondered if I would ever be able to forget entirely.

“…tried to have children – up until his unexpected death, I mean.” I hesitated, noticing Colum’s distant gaze.

“I see.” He said in a tired voice, but there was an edge to it that made me nauseous. “A beautiful love story to be sure. Too bad there isna any truth to it, is there?”

“What?” I gave a nervous laugh, hot panic slapping me on the face, but stubbornly resolved to react like an innocent and oblivious woman. “I don’t understand what you…”

But Colum’s emaciated hand raised from the bed and I noticed he was gripping my burner phone. I closed my mouth and swallowed hard.

“No common doctor than I ken of needs one of  _these_. I went into your bedroom looking for one of those red pills for the ache in my joints, since my wee box was empty. You didna hide it very well.” He raised a brow and looked directly at me. There was suspicion and anger in his eyes to be sure – but the darkest emotion there, the one that made me queasy, was betrayal. “ _Who are you_?”

“Claire.” I whispered, thankful that I was already sitting – otherwise I might have collapsed on the floor. “My name is  _Claire_.”

“But not  _Randall_ , I imagine.” He pursed his lips in distaste, every word bitter on his mouth.

“No.” I said, entwining my hands. I could have tried to appease him with an imaginative tale of a secret affair, but the fondness I had developed for him prevented it. Besides, Colum MacKenzie was the only route yet to explore on the road to stopping  _The Clan_. “Not  _Randall_. My name is Claire Beauchamp.”

He nodded slightly, as if appreciating that I had decided to be earnest with him. He adjusted himself on the bed and I pressed my palms against my knees to stop myself from shacking. “What are ye doing in my house, then?”

“I work for the secret services.” I raised my chin, trying not to show fear. “We have reason to believe  _Leoch Enterprises_  is harbouring a terrorist organization called  _The Clan_. I was placed undercover to gather information on the subject – so far, I have confirmed that someone is using  _your_  resources to detonate bombs all over Scotland.”

A coughing fit almost drove him to vomit, the skin on his face turning slightly purple with effort, and I placed my arm on his back, gently helping him to calm his laboured breathing.

“I think ye should leave,  _Doctor_.” He suggested hoarsely, tilting his head to avoid my eyes. “Ye aren’t welcome in my home anymore.”

“Do you love your nephew?” I said desperately, my hands seeking his. “Do you love Jamie? Because I think you do. More than he ever knew.”

“I loved Ellen.” He admitted, coughing again. I waited for the bout to pass. “I loved my sister dearly – followed her like a puppy wherever she went. She decided to make a life of her own with Brian Fraser, away from the corruption of money, and her bairns were lost to me. I complied with her wishes not to meddle with their upbringing – I reckon I knew she was right in wanting them away from  _this family_. When Jamie came to me, seeking a place to start anew…” Colum looked at me with unspeakable mourning in his eyes. “It was like having her again. A piece of her to care for – I could show her I was worth her trust. I’m not a man of emotions, Claire, and the telling of such things doesna come easily to me. But Jamie will inherit everything I own, whether he wants a place in  _Leoch_ or no.”

“I love him too.” I said softly – and whatever tenderness had been missing in my story about Frank Randall, whatever emotion couldn’t be replicated by any amount of training, was clearly prominent in my face when I told him about Jamie. “ _The Clan_  tried to kill Jamie – that’s  _why_  he left. Will you help me save him?”


	30. 5.6

**_5.6_ **

In the end, Colum had always known where Dougal’s allegiances lied. He deliberately chose to look the other way – maybe because of loyalty, maybe because of something else. I personally thought him to be a very lonely man, plagued by ghosts of past mistakes, of the ones he had let go without care for his own heart. He had never participated in any plans, and tried to stall them as much as he could, sending Dougal abroad as  _Leoch Enterprises_ ’ envoy on several occasions, when his hate speech had become bolder. But those trips turned out to be the perfect excuse to meet other dangerous individuals and gain knowledge and liaisons to further his cause.

Colum had dissuaded, threatened, coerced, enticed and begged Dougal to stay his hand for as long as he could – but ultimately there was no way of truly stopping him, save by blowing the whistle to the authorities.  _Luceo non uro_  –  _“I shine, not burn”_  – had been the  _MacKenzie_ ’s motto for centuries; but Dougal was adamant on _burning_ , burning Scotland to the stake if need be, in order to see his outrageous dreams fulfilled.

But Jamie –  _well_ , Jamie was Colum’s blood as much as Dougal. Even  _more so_ , the heart’s blood of his beloved sister, who had gone to her early grave estranged from him, believing him to be a man with no morals. And because of him– and him alone – Colum told me everything and delivered hundreds of incriminatory files. I held them in my hands as an unexpected key to a forlorn freedom, my heart thundering with the weight of so many lives lost and lives yet to become.

_“Checkmate.”_  I texted the MI5 headquarters with professed difficulty, given how badly I was shaking. In chess, the king is never captured – the game finishes way before that, when a player acknowledges his hopeless position -, but this time the king was imprisoned inside my tight fist and I wasn’t about to let go. I, a mere pawn, had managed to finally turn the game in our advantage.

The next few days were hectic and convoluted, with daily arrests inside  _Leoch_ and in several other locations in Glasgow and Edinburgh. Dougal had been taken into custody and awaited trial – rumoured to be held in record time – in a supermax prison. Each day I waited with a heavy heart for the news, fearful of the names I would read – people I had worked with, had lunched with in the cafeteria, even laughed with. I mourned the disruption to so many innocent workers, their intimacy fully exposed as press and police combed for any remaining accomplices.

And all that time I waited. I watched over Colum – who had been offered a plea in exchange for his voluntary collaboration -, nursed all my sorrows and waited for the time to be reunited with Jamie.

The mere thought of going back to my old life seemed perfectly ludicrous – I had no notion of how people could accommodate normalcy again after such deceptions. Since the moment  _The Clan_  had been apprehended, I was  _Claire Randall_  no more – but my skin as Claire Beauchamp seemed not to fit me anymore, a well-loved suit too tight on my chest, too loose on my soul. But even that feeling of inadequacy palled before the purest of realizations – whatever else I might be or become, I was  _Jamie’s_. And that was enough.

The attic was just how I remembered it. This time the slight whiff of mould tasted like ambrosia, as I almost ran up the stairs, laughing with giddiness as I stumbled.

The precious message hadn’t come with a time – I knew he’d be waiting for me there, so I took my time, carefully placing in check every emotion and word I had to say to him. I didn’t want to appear to him an unfinished thing, scrambling to hold on to my every piece.

Any rehearsed speech or notion of control was robbed from me the moment I saw him.

Jamie had clearly been waiting for me for quite a while, because he had surrendered to sleep, perhaps lulled by the memories of the love shared on that same bed. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him – the scars on his hand turning white instead of angry red, the soft waves of his red hair just long enough for me to twist in my hand in passion, the lines of tiredness and concern creased around his perfectly carved mouth, the lovely way his knees folded in a portrait of heartbreaking innocence.

Dreading the idea of disturbing him, I tiptoed to the bed and slowly laid down next to him, gently adjusting my head to fit the curve of his arm.  _Home._  I was home.

I’d have been utterly pleased to spend eternity just like that, my body acknowledging his silently, breathless with the prospect of touching him, wondering how I’d managed to find such happiness amidst such lingering darkness. I knew the  _exact_ moment he came awake even without looking into his face, by the way his breathing hitched – and soon enough tremors coursed through his body, as he wept shamelessly. I cried too, fear and joy strange bedfellows, thoroughly unhinged with love. We had been puzzles, he and I, that someone had tried to shape into a thousand forms, not quite fitting, not quite complete. Only Jamie could soften my sharp edges and I sharpen his smooth corners – together we made sense, and by God, we formed a remarkable image.

“Even during my time serving,” He whispered, his arm coming around my waist to pull me into him. I hummed in pleasure, feeling the touch of his skin. “I was unafraid. Other lads trembled with the thought of carrying a gun or piloting a fighter. They said prayers, wore charms under their uniforms, always steeped beyond our dormitory with their right foot. I was unfazed by all of it.” Jamie’s index and middle finger tilted my chin up and I finally glared into his blue eyes. “But I have been afraid since the moment I first saw ye in that hospital – first that I would never meet ye proper, afterwards that I would never have ye and then that I’d lose ye. God, Claire! – I’ve known nothing but the most joyous fear since I met ye.”

“I promised that we would have a future.” I nuzzled the spot on his neck that had lured me back in the safehouse, content on rediscovering every detail of my love for him. “So that we might always know such fear in our lives – _together_.”

“ _Mo ghraidh._ My Claire _.”_  He sighed as I slowly kissed the curve of his jaw, gripping the sheets in his fists. “I carefully planned all the things I wanted to do to ye today – painted every kiss on my mind, undressed ye a million times, made ye come with tongue, fingers and cock until ye were hoarse and I was satisfied.” He rolled to his side, so we were pressed together, his desire for me unmistakable. “But now that I have ye here, I’ll maybe beg that ye are gentle with me – for I feel my heart might just break, without ye to see it safe.”

And gentle I was, at least the first time around, riding him while he held my hands for leverage, feeling the fleeting pulse on the veins of my wrist with his fingertips, a rush of blood humming with the rush of our bodies.

The second time he was rough, and I urged him to remain so, pouring me a glass of respite from the endless thirst for him of previous weeks, the faint bruises he might give me precious as medals of honour.  _I had survived. Our enemies had been defeated_.  _We would live_.

We talked and loved in turns, sometimes leaving conversations in the middle when our desire blazed so intensely – but we had time, we had earned the right to be in the moment, to savour each other in whatever manner we saw fit without the need of propriety.

When hunger – the one dictated by neurotransmitters and felt in the stomach – finally managed to slow us down, Jamie kissed me languidly and headed to a nearby street to get us something to eat.

As I waited for his return, I started to plan again – to choose the words in which I would compose a sentence to change our lives; how to tell him that our fear would become even greater, and that I was unspeakably happy to be carrying it inside my womb.

I must have dozed off, because when I woke up the shadows were long inside the attic, the light coming in orange from the dying sun.

Jamie hadn’t come back.

I scrambled to get my phone from the discarded clothes on the floor. An incoming message from an unknown number flickered hauntingly and I had to swallow hard to stop myself from vomiting, dread drowning me even before I saw its contents.

_“Sweet Claire,_

_You think yourself so clever, don’t you? Playing the good doctor, only to spy on all of us. But I bet you didn’t see this one coming, nor your wee fox. You’ve taken all that was dear to me, so I’ll take what is dearest to you. The Clan still lives, traitor – and fireworks will light up the skies with your lover’s blood. Come and see for yourself. Tic tac, Claire. Boom._

_Geillis.”_


	31. 5.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been nothing but an amazing ride. Thank you for reading and caring. Stand by for the epilogue!

**_5.7_ **

_It was the elegant way she lunged for an attack with her foil that caught my attention, remarkably fearless, almost on the verge of becoming reckless. Her opponent held her ground for a while, but it was only a matter of time before she could claim victory – her hand had become one with her weapon, an extension of her sharp mind, thought giving way to preternatural instinct. It was one of those moments of grace, of unexpected beauty, that make even the most miserable existence worthwhile._

_I tried to concentrate on my own match, but my eyes kept being attracted to her; lured by her competent skill, as well as the promise of her body, even well-disguised as it was by her fencing attire._

_I clenched my teeth, feeling mildly irritated with myself. I had never been prone to bouts of male lust; took great pride in knowing a fair bit more than the first name of every woman I ever kissed. And yet, this faceless woman beguiled me, irrationally so._

_I was lonely, that much was evident – sometimes so terribly remote, I envisioned myself as a ghost, damned to roam the earth without the solace of human connection. After my injury I had known a brief reprieve and a dream of happiness, before I had, once more, willingly delivered my life to the service of a cause that wasn’t my own contentment; the woman, the surgeon, still haunted me. Nothing saddened me more than the realization that I’d never hear her say my name, or know the grace of her touch. The purest love I’d even known had only existed inside my head, a mere possibility vanished like smoke on the palm of my hand. A ghost in love with a ghost._

_When her match finished, I stalled, pretending to struggle with the cover to protect my sabre. In reality, I lingered only in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her face. I didn’t want to talk or to flirt; I needed to know what was about that woman that compelled me so - what had made it possible for her to awaken me after such a prolonged slumber._

_She finally greeted her adversary and took off her helmet, revealing her face to me. It was the dawn of days, when the world had been good without reservations; the beginning of all things, they said, even if something had clearly existed before, may that be God or magnetic fields; a balm to the most depleted of souls._

_With her, everything was again possible – and I was no longer a ghost._

***

The GPS coordinates led me to a neglected old farm on the outskirts of Edinburgh, a place by all appearances vacant and thoroughly unused. The long fields had been replaced by an invasion of weeds, filled to the brim with the offers of a once fertile land, and an ominous scarecrow stood guard against the ruin of time.

It was the hour of twilight, night threatening to fully install itself, bringing company of roaring wind and the menace of rain. As I skimmed across the path, not really knowing what I was looking for, an old gate squeaked somewhere close, its hinges rusty and useless like the hands of an old woman, deformed by painful rheumatism.

The courtyard was dominated by an old barn, painted in sunflower yellow decades ago, body of work of a woman’s whim and the love of a man for his wife’s desires. The laughter of years had scorched the yellow, making it almost brown sugar, the vibrant yellow of flowers and sand dunes almost indiscernible at my eyes. It was the perfect hiding space, secluded and deserted, to host young lovers seeking a nest for private snogging, fugitives, dealers and – I suspected – a terrorist or two, in this instance.

I kicked myself for the millionth time for overlooking Geillis. She was everything they had warned me against during my short training – available, friendly, astoundingly nice and good-humoured. I had let my guard down, needing someone to confide in at an extent, and had befriended her without a second thought. It had never crossed my mind that she was impeccably positioned to acquire access to  _Leoch’_ s financial and security details; that everyone seemed to entrust her with precious information; that Dougal was a canny man, but nonetheless gullible when subjected to the charms of an exquisite woman. Perhaps, she had been the true mastermind behind  _The Clan_  from the beginning and Dougal only her handyman – a sudden memory, almost forgotten, of a woman in a blue beanie hurriedly leaving  _The Scottish National Gallery_  just before the explosion hit my mind.  _Damn you Geillis_.  _Damn you to hell_.

My carelessness had costed me – _us_. I wasn’t inclined to be credulous again, even if I had refrained from alerting the MI5, fearing to hasten Geillis actions against Jamie. My hand absentmindedly reached for the security of the gun I was carrying on my back pocket. Jamie had left it in the attic, discarded during our lovemaking, so I had burrowed it without hesitation, even with my no more than basic notions of marksmanship.

As I walked slowly, willing to make myself part of the growing shadows, I firmly ignored the ache that was growing in my belly. It had started like a mild cramp right after receiving Geillis’ message and was progressively growing into an incapacitating pain, pulsing and burning inside me, fighting to ban out what I so wished to protect. But I couldn’t think about it; couldn’t bear to dwell on the implications – for if I let the meaning of it all consume me, it would destroy me irreparably, effectively shattering any chance to be reunited with Jamie on time.

I reached the wooden door, feeling the reassuring pressure of a splinter against my palm as I pressed it, breathing deeply to fight off the pain in my core. The latch was strangely open, but I didn’t let myself be deterred.

The barn smelled of ancient manure, decaying hay and cold mould, a scent simultaneously reassuring in its simplicity and homeliness, but distressing in its almost foulness – in its  _wrongness_ , when the place should be alive and warm.

I stifled a scream when I saw Jamie, laying half-seated against a beam, his wrists and ankles restrained by what looked like sturdy rope. His blue eyes were big and frantic glaring at me and my immediate response to his silent panic – since his mouth had been covered with black tape – was to rush in his direction.

As soon as I was inside the barn, the door behind me closed with a definitive slam, inexorably trapping us together inside it - caught like an innocent rat in a trap, drawn by love instead of cheese.  _Helpless_.

“Let us out, you wicket  _bitch_!” I howled, knowing perfectly well Geillis was in the premises, uselessly hammering the door with my fist. An unbearably strong pain hit my abdomen and I almost folded, strangling a moan. I felt something sticky moistening my underwear, slowly making its way over my thigh – the realization of my own warm blood almost made me vomit.

“ _Jamie_.” I staggered towards him, fighting the skilful knots which imprisoned him with my trembling fingers. Once he had been freed, he fastened his strong arms around me tightly, both of us holding on for dear life. “Did she hurt you?”

“No.” He brushed my hair, his fingertips examining every square inch of my face, looking for hidden wounds. “I encountered her at the coffee shop. She seemed sae sad and broken, I tried to cheer her up by talking a bit – the wee she-devil poisoned me!”

“I’m here now.” I tried to soothe him, when in fact I was trying to gather myself. I wondered how soon the blood would be visible through my jeans, even in the scarce illumination left inside the barn. “She baited me to come – she told me she had you.”

“You shouldna have.” He gulped, his forehead leaning against my own. His eyes were fierce and intent, his voice hoarse from being gagged. “Claire, that corner over there is filled with C4 explosives. There is enough in here to blow up the entire farm. I dinna see how we can stop it from happening.”

“Jamie, we have to get out of here.” I entwined my hand with his, squeezing with more force than I intended to, when a mighty cramp hit me. The world seemed to balance on its axis, as I saw everything undulate and flicker. “ _Ah_.”

“ _Mo nighean donn_? What’s the matter?” Jamie called me tentatively, his palm touching my clammy skin. I waited, holding my breath, as his eyes made their way to my stomach and then my legs. “Claire, ye’re bleeding!”

“Yes.” Tears formed in the corners of my eyes and I wasn’t able to stop them from falling freely over my cheeks. “I believe I am.”

Jamie touched my bottom lip, his own hand shaking, as the horror of realization dawned in his eyes. “Are ye…?”

“You were going to be a father.” I told him softly, my voice almost inaudible against the roar of the wind outside. “I wanted to tell you –  _before_.” I clenched my teeth, struggling not to fall on my face and weep into oblivion. “But there wasn’t enough time.”

“ _How long_ …?” His hand tentatively – tenderly – touched my belly, where our greatest loss yet had been decided without a fair battle.

“Not long.” I swallowed tears, feeling so terribly small and inadequate.  _Hollow_ , after being fulfilled with such promise. “All is lost now.”

“My fault.” Jamie uttered with such brokenness, I feared he would physically split in two. “All of this is my fault.”

“No!” I surrounded his face with my hands and forced him to look at me. “These – these  _things_ happen. It was too soon on the first trimester, and nothing could be done if I was to have a miscarriage. There is no blame to be put on either our shoulders for this, do you understand?”

“If I hadn’t loved ye since the first I saw ye –  _wanted_ ye, more than life itself.” Tears slid down his cheeks marred with dust, as he shared the great burden in his heart. “My longing for ye set everything on its path – Raymond’s attention over ye, yer recruitment, every pain ye suffered these past few months. Every wickedness and horror only found ye because – because  _I love ye_. And I couldn’t help pursuing what I felt, even against my best judgement.”

“Please.” I sobbed, gently kissing his cold lips. “Never regret loving me. Because I certainly do not. Even now, after all the pain and death and heartbreak that followed, I still would make the same choice.  _You_  – I’d always choose  _you_. Being in love with you – being  _loved_ by you.”

“ _Mo ghraidh_.” He kissed me ardently, holding me against his chest as if he wished to engrain me in his own heart.  _Shelter me inside his chest_. “I’m so sorry, my love. So sorry. I’ll see you avenged for this.”

“How can we stop the bomb?” I mumbled, nervously looking in the direction of the plastic material. My body seemed to be on fire, more than the usual for that type of situation – I thought I might need some serious medical attention soon, even if I conveniently managed not to die in an explosion.

“It has to be detonated by remote.” Jamie got up and started to walk around, uselessly trying to find an escape route. “The wee besom must have it. What do ye think she is waiting for?”

“She wants us to suffer.” I gulped, my throat parched. “She wants us to have each other for a while – so we can truly lose everything afterwards.”

“ _Mallaichte bas_!” Jamie cursed, his fist punching a board. I caught other words as he continued to proclaim evil upon Geillis, all her ascendants and descendants, the likes of “ _tannasg_ ” and “ _deamhan_ ”. “Wait.” He looked at me triumphantly, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Sassenach, I think – perhaps this trap she built for us can be used to catch another bird too.”

“What do you have in mind?” I asked him, wincing as I got up to walk near him, so he could lower his voice.

Jamie’s wail almost paralyzed me, my spine feeling utterly frozen – or I’d be if I wasn’t, for the effect of our charade, conveniently dead. I was sure he was using his  _very real_  grief and loss to make an impressive display of despair; I was laid on the ground, looking indeed very pale and bloody. If Geillis wished us to die together, we had to make her believe her plan had already failed, as I had collapsed dead on the ground without further notice.

He cried and cried, screaming and screeching, the sound almost unbearable to me. There is something very afflicting about seeing someone you love so dearly crying, even if you know it to be not entirely true.

Eventually we heard footsteps outside, the sound of the lock opening, and Geillis appeared against the moonlight at the threshold.

“What’s the matter, lad?” She played with the silver revolver in her hand. “Aren’t ye happy to see yer sweet lass?” Her eyes finally caught sight of me, inherently deceased, and she gasped an angry “ _No_!”.

“What did ye do?” She spat towards Jamie, entering the barn and approaching my body to inspect the blood – just as we had foreseen.

“ _Hello_  there.” I smiled wickedly, suddenly opening my eyes. “ _Bragh Stuart_ , you bitch!” And before she could regain her wits, I kicked her weapon out of her hands and Jamie, with lightening speed, pressed my own small gun against her temple.

I don’t recall much of what happened next. I know they retrieved the remote and the C4 and no explosion ever happened. I know I was taken to the hospital to recover and that Jamie never left my side, sleeping entirely crooked on the armchair near my bed. I know neither of us spoke much, entirely too broken, guilt-stricken and burdened to form trivial words. I know Raymond came to see us – Jamie took him to an adjacent room, where he could still watch over me, and they argued violently. I know that after their reunion, we both earned the right to do whatever we wished with our lives after operation Broken Crown. I know that Colum came to visit and that he and Jamie made their peace in some capacity. I know that Geillis took her own life in jail, shortly after being apprehended.

In my dreams, I was already in the hot springs with Jamie, healing from our wounds. We both had new scars to bear, some marking our bodies, others – running much more deeply – edged upon our souls. His fingers soothed my aches; my lips found the gnashes on his will. Together we had the ability to be restored.

In my dreams I wasn’t  _Claire Randall_  anymore. But I didn’t respond to  _Claire Beauchamp_  either.

_Claire Fraser_. She was the person I wanted to be.


	32. 0.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Much love XO

**_0.0_ **

My index finger smoothly traced the rim of the glass, just enough to feel the soft vibration where my nail, painted in  _Black Widow_  nail polish, met the surface. A timid song waiting to be freed from the crystal, not entirely of this world, as the shapes of beasts and faces in the clouds of a mid-summer haze.

I raised my eyes coyly and met his gaze – interested, to put it mildly. Intrigued by the fumes of gin and the aged whiskey in the casks of my eyes. I offered him a self-assured smile, just a smirk, half the effort of a full grin, before I thirstily drank again, tasting strawberries, cinnamon and the tang of deception. Barely thirty seconds had passed before I coquettishly glanced again, and he was openly staring, his eyes so intent he was almost squinting, his big hand slightly tapping the overpriced mahogany table top.

I felt the rush of anticipation, bolder than the chills of the flu, and the entirely inappropriate way my heart responded to the thrill of it, to the desire I could so masterfully play with.

I moistened my lips – just enough, just a tease – and shook my curls, longer and silkier than they had been in years, and raised my brows with a smile. I got up, put on the black leather jacket over my white shirt, and made to exit the gin bar. Then – as an afterthought, a sudden decision really – I looked over my shoulder and nodded almost imperceptibly, akin to a sensual whisper in his ear “ _Are you coming_?”.  

Outside, the Parisian night was mild, the breeze of early spring just enough to cool my overheated body, a cold kiss between my shoulder blades to keep me on my toes. I made for the alley next to the  _Gavroche_ , sliding on my black high heel boots, not worrying enough – not allowing myself – to look to make sure he was coming after me.

I leaned against the wall in the silent alley and looked at the stars, twinkling amiably in competition to the City of Light, soothing in their false infinity and perpetuality.

“Hello.” I whispered, half to the night sky, half to the man that had appeared next to me. He placed his hands on my arms, a raven tattoo on the inside of his wrist peeking curiously under his watch, and he leaned closer to me. I thought he was searching for my scent, aligning our bodies to feel the swell of my breasts, desperately trying to puzzle what in me had enticed him so.

“You are…” He whispered, a deep voice that could be arousing if not for being sickly-sweet, his accent heavy. “ _Exquisite_.”

I laughed, because how could I not in such circumstances, and buried my forehead on his shoulder, moving as if seeking further contact but instead running away within the precious inches available.

He didn’t see the gun appearing in the night, not until it was glued to his temple, the barrel a new vessel to his body – not to let blood and life in, but mercilessly out.

“How are ye,  _Antoine_?” Jamie said in a conversational tone, almost polite, when the man froze, his lips on the verge of touching me. Antoine took a small step away from me and turned, angrily looking at Jamie and then me. I shrugged and smirked, unapologetic. I walked to Jamie’s side, as he kept our target under close vigilance, and placed my palm on the small of his back, feeling the tension leaving his body underneath his jacket. He hated this – my role in a mission, whenever I chose to play it, the unavoidable danger of immersing myself in darkness. And I hated being away from him, not being able to touch him on a whim, to miss an opportunity of hearing him laugh.

Jamie’s hand holding the gun was completely steady, even when his eyes quickly scanned me to make sure no harm had been done. I reassured him in halting  _Gaidhlig_  that I was, indeed, very well and happy to see him. Satisfied with my answer – but, undoubtedly, planning to thoroughly examine me later just to be sure - he turned his full attention to our  _not-so-innocent_  victim.

“So,” Jamie gave Antoine a pleasant and seemingly relaxed smile, which spoke enough of the imminent danger he was in, his hoarse voice streaming in impeccable French to make sure nothing was lost in translation. “We were wondering if, by any chance, ye are familiar with a company called  _Les Corbeaux_?”

***

I entered our secluded apartment building after parking, somewhat tiredly but – I hope - politely waving towards Pierre, our observant and trust-worthy concierge. He cheerfully babbled a “ _Bonsoir, Madame Fraise!_ ” – an endearing moniker he had used since our arrival, six months before, after learning that  _Fraser_  had, indeed, come from distant relations with strawberries and France.

I took a long bath to get rid of any traces of the night’s activities, using Jamie’s favourite lemon-scented soap, and afterwards called headquarters, to enquire about my patients’ condition.

After operation  _Broken Crown_ , I had tried to go back to a sense of normalcy with my old work at the hospital. I attended the advanced trauma class the MI5 had promised me and then returned to my usual shifts and scrubs, now coloured with shades of unreality, hollowness and frivolity. Jamie, on the other hand, had struggled to decide what to do with his life – before he was recruited to the ranks of MI5 he had been a soldier, taking duty for a passionate lover, learning to embrace the song of gunfire and whispers of longing for a distant home.

But that place had been lost to him, forever – no job as a security guard or private investigator could replace it. The same way I was made to heal, Jamie was made to serve others by leading, by being the first open chest in the crossfire. His restlessness came from a lack of purpose, as well as from a gripping sense of being trapped in an unfinished story. One night I told him  _“We could go back – on our own terms”_ – knowing what would cost me, _us_ , but that none of us could truly live again away from it -, and so we did.

Raymond received us with open arms, delighted to have back his most valuable assets, even if we demanded more power of decision and freedom to pursue our own agenda – Jamie in the field and myself as head of the medical unit of the agency. I would trust Jamie’s care to no one else but me. I would see him safe,  _always_.

For the next couple of years, we lived like gipsies, chasing targets related to terrorism across the globe – from the slums of Mumbai to the margins of Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, we tracked, surveilled, interrogated and apprehended individuals connected to networks working with  _The Clan_ , many of them responsible for coups and attacks, like the ones spreading bloodshed in the streets of Kabul and Caracas.

Finally, we had made our way to Paris, to find the man behind the shell corporation of  _Les Corbeaux_ , and I had been the siren called to lure him to face justice.

I laid curled in bed, fiercely ignoring the empty space next to me, waiting for the main channels to start broadcasting the exciting news. I dozed off, lulled by the comfort of the warm blankets and the adrenaline hangover, my dreams filled with tattooed ravens coming to life, flying in formation and carrying a redheaded little girl into my arms, elegant and joyful like a trapeze artist on a swing. When I opened my eyes, the television shone with  _“Breaking – Officers storm neighbourhood in the outskirts of Paris, suspects of terrorism have been arrested”_.

I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. Even if I didn’t hear his light footsteps, or the soft sounds of his clothes being shed, his presence ignited within me like an ancient beacon on a mountaintop of a kingdom at war. I didn’t move, waiting for him to come to me – knowing that sometimes he would take his time, cleaning his body and his mind before turning to me, making sure that only  _my_ Jamie came to bed, and not one of his many faces.

A rush of cold as he raised the coverlets and then his warmth, solid and reassuring enough to make a knot form inside my throat. He slid next to me until his head was next to my navel and I placed my hands on his mussed-up hair, still slightly moist at the nape from his motorcycle helmet.

“I promised ye I would lay vengeance at yer feat,  _mo nighean donn_.” He whispered in a husky voice and kissed my heartbreakingly flat stomach, as much in remembrance as in deep faith, and his overwhelming tenderness left me choked, as it so often did.

“It’s done, then?” I whispered back, gently stroking the bold set of his jaw, where a prickly stubble was threatening to appear.

“Aye.” He scooted up, until his intent blue eyes were piercing my own. I traced the deep dark circles surrounding them – he hadn’t been sleeping well, as it frequently occurred when he was close to finishing a mission, seemingly keeping his eyes on his goal day and night, never surrendering even inside his dreams. “Antoine sang all his songs in due time. Tomorrow our agents will be storming a hut in Syria, where the man who taught Dougal and Geillis on how to make bombs is currently residing. It’s almost over, Sassenach.”

“And then, what will we do?” I asked softly, massaging the tired slopes of his neck and upper back. He kissed my lips, hot and wanting, and his forehead came to rest against mine.

“That is for ye to decide. Ye gave me the chance to fix this brokenness inside me, knowing I wouldna live while they freely roamed this earth. When this task is done, my life is yers to do as ye wish.” Jamie nuzzled my neck, leaving me a little more than breathless.

“Oh, is it?” I hummed, tilting my head to further expose my sensible spot. “Even if I demanded a boring, uneventful, life for the rest of our days?”

“I highly doubt life with ye could ever be uneventful.” He gave a throaty laugh, his eyes shining even in the dim light. “But aye – even so.  _Where thou goest, I will go_. I will lay down all weapons for yer kisses, forsake all other names to be called  _yours_. My only desire is never to be parted from ye.”

“A yearning of my own heart.” I offered him a lopsided smile, noticing how his breathing was becoming shallower, incited by the risky caresses of my hands on his thighs. “When we married at the hot springs, I recall you saying something similar.”

“It never stopped being my one and absolute truth,  _mo ghraidh_.” He rolled on his back, pulling me to be on top of him. “What will it be, then?”

“Well,” I said slowly, watching him closely. “Ask me that in another eight months or so.” And I watched, marvelled, the dawn of his joy and all its promises, filling me with the unbreakable certainty that even surrounded by enemies we had home in each other – steady pillars, leafy beams and wondrous skylights of secrets and love, that no one else shared, but  _us_.

 

_**The End** _


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